BOHeniR 

1NVAD€D 


fornia 
nal 

ty 


> 


% 


^ 


fMV?^ 


BOHEMIA  INVADED. 


^bc  Bijou  Seriee^ 


B  :fi3ubble.    l.  b.  walford. 

B  (HuCBtion  of  Color.    F.  C.  Philips. 

CbittotVs  /Dbarrlage.    gyp. 
private  G^infier,  etc. 

John  Strange  Winter. 
:fi3obemia  ITnvaDeD.   James  l.  ford. 
B  TIClbite  3i3abg.    James  Welsh. 
^be  IReD  Spell.    Francis  Gribble. 


From   The  Inttrtiational  Dictionary  : 

"  Bijou  ;  a  word  applied  to  anything  small  and  of  ele- 
gant workmanship." 


ffre^ertcft  H.  Stores  Company, 

publiebers,  l^ew  ]9orlt. 


Bohemia  Invaded 


BnD  ©tbcr  Stories 


By  JAMES  L.  FORD 

Author  of '''■  Hypnotic  Tales,''^  "  The  Literary 
Shop,''  Etc. 


WITH    FRONTISPIECE 

BY   A.  W.  B.   LINCOLN 


Iftew  liJocft  anO  XonDon 

FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1895,  by 
FREDERICK  A.  STOKES  COMPANY. 


PRINTED    IN    AMERICA 


AUTHOR'S  NOTE. 

These  Stories  are  reprhtted  by  permission^  from 
PUCK,  TRUTH,  THE  NEW  YORK  HERALD 

and  other  publications. 


2061657 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

BOHEMIA   INVADED I 

WEDDED    BLISS I9 

HIGH   ETIQUETTE    IN    HARLEM 37 

THE  TALENT   IN   THE   NAPKIN 53 

A  DINNER   IN    POVERTY    FLAT 57 

THE    BETTER    ELEMENT 73 

THE   SQUARER 81 

THE  JOKE   THAT    FAILED 97 

DAN   BRIORDY'S   GITAWAY  SHADDER.  .  .  I05 

THE  WARDMAN's    WOOING 125 

THE   CHANGE   OF    THE    LUCK .  .  I47 

MR.    SYNICK'S  anti-bad-break 163 

FREAKS   AND   KINGS 169 


BOHEMIA    INVADED. 


They  all  say  that  if  it  had  not  been 
for  my  uncalled-for  foolishness  in 
bringing  young  Etchley  down  to  the 
Garibaldi  table  iVhbte  last  winter,  that 
exclusive  and  delightful  salon  would 
never  have  lost  one  iota  of  the  pres- 
tige which  it  had  enjoyed  for  fully  a 
year  previous  to  my  entirely  inexcus- 
able and  thoughtless  act. 

I  believe  that  I  have  flitted  through 
every  table  d^hbte  that  has  reared  its 
head  in  the  town  since  the  days  of 
Martinelli,  and  I  doubt  if  there  has 
ever  been  one  which  equalled  in  point 
of  exclusiveness  and  austere  social 
tone  the  little  40-cent  dinner  which 
"  Garibaldi,"  as  we  call  him,  his  real 

I 


2  :®obemia  1[n\>aDe&. 

name  being  unpronounceable,  serves 
every  evening  to  his  patrons  in  his 
snug  little  basement  below  Washing- 
ton Square. 

Everybody  who  is  familiar  with 
table  d'hote  life  knows  that  exclusive- 
ness  is  possible  only  in  those  establish- 
ments where  the  dinner  is  served  at  a 
very  low  price.  Half  a  dollar  opens 
the  doors  to  the  common  herd,  and  as 
for  the  dollar  dinners  they  are  com- 
pletely given  over  to  the  Philistines 
who  chop  their  spaghetti  into  a  pulp 
and  eat  it  with  a  spoon. 

It  is  true  that  we  "  Garibaldians  " 
are  easily  recognized  by  the  white  lint 
which  comes  off  the  tablecloths  and 
napkins  and  sticks  to  our  garments  in 
such  liberal  quantities  as  to  impart  to 
us  a  sort  of  resemblance  to  a  drove 
of  Angora  goats,  but  that  is  something 
that  no  one  but  a  Philistine  would 
ever  complain  of. 

Now,  a  Philistine  will  not  of  his  own 


JBobemia  f  nvaDcD.  3 

volition  venture  into  one  of  the  humble 
basements  or  cool  backyards  in  which 
the  artistic  soul  seeks  refreshment. 
When  he  is  lured  into  such  a  place  he 
sniffs  audibly  and  suspiciously,  and 
when  he  learns  that  the  dinner  costs 
but  35  or  40  cents  he  wants  to  know 
why  they  keep  the  place  so  dirty  and 
why  that  waiter  doesn't  bring  the 
powdered  sugar  along  with  the  lettuce. 
But  to  return  to  Garibaldi's.  For  a 
long  time  a  score  of  us  had  the  big 
oval  table  to  ourselves,  and  very  pleas- 
ant indeed  were  the  dinners  we  used 
to  enjoy  there.  From  my  experience 
then  I  should  say  that  the  ideal  table 
d'hote  company  should  be  composed 
of  the  following  ingredients  in  the 
proportions  indicated :  Art,  plastic, 
pictorial  and  illustrative,  25  percent. ; 
letters,  poesy,  prosody,  typewriting 
and  journalism,  25  per  cent.  ;  the 
stage,  lyric,  protean  and  classic,  20 
per   cent. ;  Arctic  explorers,  tropical 


4  JBobemia  f nvaJJcO. 

travellers  and  illustrious  exiles,  loper 
cent. ;  ladies,  bound  by  marital  or 
other  fragile  ties  to  and  usually  es- 
corted by  atoms  of  the  ingredients 
already  named,  20  per  cent. 

The  oval  table  held  15  comfortably, 
and  by  squeezing  we  could  make  room 
for  18,  or  even  20  if  the  last  comers 
happened  to  stand  well  in  our  little 
commune. 

It  was  into  this  Eden  that  I  intro- 
duced Etchley  one  fateful  night  about 
six  months  ago,  and  it  happened  that 
we  found  but  two  vacant  places — one 
at  the  lower  end  of  the  table,  where 
half  a  dozen  artists  were  congregated, 
and  the  other  directly  opposite  and 
between  two  comedians. 

I  deposited  my  friend  in  the  first 
named  of  the  two  places,  and,  having 
introduced  him  to  his  neighbors,  left 
him  to  his  own  devices,  confident 
that  he  would  readily  assimilate  with 
those  about   him,  for  young  Etchley 


JBobcmia  f  nvaDcD.  5 

is  well  known  in  New  York  society 
as  the  "  rising  young  artist,"  and  has 
a  rare  collection  of  antiques  and  rugs 
on  the  walls  and  floor  of  the  hand- 
somely furnished  room  which  he  calls 
his  "studio." 

I  remember  very  little  of  the  con- 
versation that  went  on  about  the  table 
on  the  night  of  young  Etchley's  debut, 
but  I  recall  with  vivid  distinctness  the 
reproachful  howls  which  greeted  me 
when  I  appeared  in  the  Garibaldi  the 
following  evening. 

"  That  was  a  nice  sort  of  a  duck  you 
brought  down  here  last  night." 

"What  do  you  want  to  spoil  a  good 
crowd  for  by  bringing  in  such  fellows 
as  that  ?  " 

I  was  thunderstruck  and  could  only 
exclaim,  "  What's  the  matter  with  my 
friend  ?     Wasn't  he  all  right  ?  " 

"  What's  the  matter  with  him !  " 
cried  Charley  Clay  indignantly.  "  He 
talked     about    the     spontaneity    of 


6  :©obemfa  f  nvaDc^. 

art.    That's  what's   the   matter  with 
him !  " 

A  sudden  understanding  of  what 
had  happened  the  night  before  came 
upon  me  with  crushing  force,  and  the 
mere  thought  of  the  hideous  enormity 
of  my  friend's  offence  caused  me  to 
sink,  speechless,  into  a  chair. 

Now,  you  may  search  New  York 
from  one  end  to  the  other  without 
finding  a  finer  artist — for  social  pur- 
poses, I  mean — than  my  accomplished 
young  friend,  Mr.  Walter  Etchley. 
His  "  studio  teas,"  of  which  he  gives 
at  least  three  every  season,  are  admit- 
ted by  all  whose  privilege  it  is  to 
attend  them  to  be  "  most  delightful 
affairs  and  so  thoroughly  Bohemian, 
you  know,"  while  his  stock  of  art 
phrases  in  French,  English  and  Italian 
is  the  envy  of  every  connoisseur  who 
ever  said  a  word  about  "  art  for  art's 
sake." 

That  Etchley  was  a  poseur  and  an 


:fi3obcmfa  UnvaDcO.  7 

adept  in  the  use  of  kettledrum  art 
talk  was  a  fact  well  known  to  me,  but 
that  he  would  attempt  to  project  any 
of  his  miserable  balderdash' about  the 
premier  coup  and  the  "  divine  art  of 
Velasquez"  into  a  circle  of  artists  of 
the  kind  who  know  how  to  draw  never 
once  entered  my  mind.  However, 
the  deed  was  done,  and  I  thought  it 
politic  just  then  to  call  for  refresh- 
ments and  humbly  ask  my  friends  to 
forget  and  forgive. 

But  before  the  week  was  out  Etch- 
ley  appeared  again  on  the  scene, 
accompanied  by  two  stock-brokers, 
who  called  for  champagne  and  came 
near  ruining  Philippe,  the  waiter, 
for  life,  by  giving  him  a  tip  of  35 
cents. 

A  few  days  later  other  gentlemen 
of  unmistakably  commercial  aspect 
bore  down  upon  us,  and  it  was  not 
long  before  the  olden  charm  of  the 
Garibaldi   had    completely  vanished. 


8  JSobemla  f  nvaDe&. 

The  Philistines  or  "  floor-walkers,"  as 
we  called  them,  not  only  sat  at  our 
table,  laughed  at  our  jokes,  forced 
themselves  upon  us  under  every  pos- 
sible pretext,  but  also  whispered  to 
one  another  about  us,  pointing  us  out 
as  if  we  had  been  so  many  animals  in 
a  cage. 

"  That  girl  with  the  red  hair  used 
to  be  in  the  Casino  chorus,  and  that 
fellow  talking  to  her  makes  pictures 
for  Puck  and  Judge.  He  was  fearfully 
funny  the  other  evening.  There's 
another  funny  man  over  there  ;  he 
does  all  those  jokes  in  Life  and 
Truths  and  that  girl  next  to  him  is  a 
typewriter  and  just  as  bright  as  they 
make  'em.  I  tell  you  it's  great  fun 
to  come  here  and  see  all  the  Bohe- 
mians ;  but  somehow  they're  not  as 
lively  to-night  as  they  generally  are. 
Hulloa  !  There  comes  Johnny  Roach, 
our  linen  buyer.  Come  over  here, 
John.     I  guess  these  ladies  and  gents 


asobemia  f  nva^eD.  9 

will  move  up  a  bit  so  as  to  give  you 
room." 

Then  there  were  those  financial 
fleas  who  make  a  living  by  dashing 
through  Wall  and  Broad  Streets  at  a 
profit  of  a  quarter  of  an  eighth  of  a 
cent  a  jump. 

What  unhallowed  bores  those  fel- 
lows are. 

"  The  bottom's  all  out  of  Lacka- 
wanna, but  Manhattan'U  be  up  in  a 
French  roof  before  the  week's  out. 
Hear  Charley  Opdyke's  latest  ?  He 
said  if  Dickey  Daredevil  got  too 
drunk  to  go  the  Union  Club  they'd 
have  to  bring  the  Union  Club  to  him. 
Haw  !  haw  !  haw  !  haw  !  I  tell  you 
that's  a  great  Charley.  I'd  oughter 
taken  that  tip  he  gave  me  yesterday 
and  played  Clothesrack  one,  two, 
three  for  the  Van  Dyke  House  Stakes, 
but  instead  of  that  I  played  Cough- 
drop,  and  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  don't 
think  the  old  plug  is  running  yet !  " 


lo  JBobcmla  fnva&e&. 

That  was  the  sort  of  talk  we  were 
compelled  to  listen  to,  and  it  was 
with  feelings  of  bitter  humiliation 
that  I  realized  that  it  was  I  who  had 
spoiled  the  place  by  introducing 
Etchley. 

Half  a  dozen  of  us  were  talking  the 
matter  over  late  one  night,  and  dis- 
cussing the  advisability  of  moving  in 
a  body  to  some  other  table  dWiote^ 
when  Kitty  Bracebridge,  who  had  just 
returned  from  her  tour  with  the 
"  Merry  Idlers  "  Company,  remarked, 
"  I  suppose  those  people  will  fill  the 
whole  place  up  when  Garibaldi  gives 
us  his  birthday  blowout  next  week. 
Do  you  remember  what  an  elegant 
time  we  had  last  year  all  by  ourselves  ? 
And  maybe  Billy  Wells  didn't  get  a 
jag  though  ?  Somehow  he  always 
gets  loaded  when  the  drinks  are  free. 
But  say,  boys,  aren't  you  going  to  do 
something  so  we  can  have  the  place 
to  ourselves,  or  at  least  our  own  table, 


:©obcmia  fnvaDeD.  n 

the  night  of  the  big  blowout,  or  shall 
we  all  get  here  at  five  o'clock  so  as 
to  keep  our  seats  ?  There's  a  fearful 
drought  here  to-night,  Charley.  Can't 
you  do  something  for  us,  or  do  you 
want  to  have  me  go  out  and  pray  for 
rain  ?  " 

"  Of  course  they'll  be  here  in  full 
force  then,"  growled  Tony  Steele, 
"  but,  by  Jove  !  " — his  face  lit  up  sud- 
denly, and  his  eyes  flashed  with 
excitement — "  I've  got  a  scheme  to 
knock  them  out,  and  if  you'll  help  me 
we'll  put  it  through  in  great  shape  on 
Garibaldi's  birthday." 

"  Help  you  ?  Well  if  it's  a  scheme 
to  down  those  counter-jumpers  we're 
with  you  every  time.  Let's  have  it 
without  delay." 


Garibaldi's  little  basement  dining- 
room  was  swept  and  garnished  in 
honor  of  the  fete  day,  which  he  ob- 


12  :Sobemta  1Fnx>aOeD. 

served  every  year  by  giving  a  free 
dinner  to  his  patrons.  As  Kitty 
Bracebridge  had  predicted,  the  out- 
siders turned  out  in  full  force,  and  if 
we,  the  aboriginal  settlers,  had  not 
taken  the  precaution  of  securing  a 
table  for  ourselves  at  a  very  early 
hour,  we  should  have  found  ourselves 
shut  out  completely.  As  it  was,  the 
mercantile  contingent  not  only  filled 
every  other  chair  in  the  room,  but  cast 
anxious  glances  at  those  in  which  we 
sat,  as  if  they  grudged  us  possession 
of  even  the  one  stronghold  that  re- 
mained to  us  in  what  we  had  formerly 
regarded  as  our  own  exclusive  terri- 
tory. 

Now,  Garibaldi's  has  a  back-yard — 
a  tiny  place,  littered  with  old  wine 
casks,  bottles,  jars,  empty  boxes, 
broken  chairs  and  other  rubbish  of 
the  sort  that  might  be  expected  to 
accumulate  about  the  kitchen  door 
of  an  Italian  restaurant.     A  window, 


JiSobemla  irnva&c&.  13 

guarded  with  thick  iron  bars,  opens 
from  the  yard  to  the  dining-room  and, 
except  in  bitter  cold  weather,  is  left 
open  in  deference  to  the  Anglo-Saxon 
fondness  for  fresh  air  and  in  defiance 
of  all  established  Latin  customs. 

But,  although  the  dinner  was  free 
that  night  and  the  room  was  filled  to 
its  utmost  capacity,  we  were  not  a  par- 
ticularly lively  company,  and  at  about 
half-past  seven  I  heard  from  another 
part  of  the  room  :  "  I  don't  know 
what's  the  matter  with  those  people 
to-night.  Generally  they're  full  of 
fun  and  get  off  a  lot  of  jokes.  That 
fellow  with  the  long  hair  and  the  eye- 
glasses I  was  talking  to  you  about 
hasn't  shown  up  yet,  but  maybe  he'll 
come  later,  and  then  you'll  see  some 
sport.  He's  an  artist  and  fearfully 
funny.  Why,  just  look  there,  will 
you  1  What  the  deuce  does  that 
mean  ? " 

At  the  same  moment  I  saw  Tony 


14  3Bobcmia  irn\?a&e&, 

and  Charley  Clay  peering  in  at  us 
through  the  open  yard  window,  with 
their  faces  flattened  against  the  iron 
bars. 

"  I  like  this  place  because  of  the  peo- 
ple you  see  here ! "  exclaimed  Tony, 
in  a  loud  voice,  and  a  murmur  of  sur- 
prise, accompanied  by  a  sudden  mov- 
ing of  chairs  and  creaking  of  necks, 
ran  through  the  room  and  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  solemn  hush,  which  was 
broken  only  by  Tony,  who  continued 
in  the  most  unconcerned  way  to  point 
out  to  his  friend  the  guests  who  were 
enjoying  Garibaldi's  hospitality. 

"  Why,  this  place  is  fairly  alive  with 
commercial  talent  to-night,"  he  re- 
marked, cheerfully.  "  If  you  want  to 
get  the  kings  of  finance  and  the  mer- 
chant princes  together  just  set  out  a 
free  feed,  and  they'll  come  all  the  way 
from  Yonkers  for  it.  Do  you  see  that 
man  with  the  mayonnaise  whiskers  ? 
You'd  never  think  to  look  at  him  that 


:iBobemta  IFnpaOcD.  15 

he  holds  a  very  responsible  position 
in  one  of  our  largest  retail  emporiums. 
Well,  he  does  all  the  same,  and  he's  got 
as  many  as  twenty  cash-boys  to  an- 
swer to  his  beck  and  call.  You  can  see 
at  a  glance  that  he  was  born  to  com- 
mand, and  yet  he's  perfectly  unassum- 
ing and  affable  to  everybody." 

Mr.  Garibaldi's  guests  looked  at  one 
another  in  amazement  and  then  turned 
their  eyes  upon  the  unfortunate  gentle- 
man with  the  "  mayonnaise  whiskers," 
who  at  once  rose  from  his  chair  and 
with  a  face  that  now  wore  a  livelier 
hue  than  his  hair,  hastily  withdrew, 
while  some  of  his  friends  began  to 
look  for  their  overcoats  and  rubbers. 

*'  There's  Clara,  too,"  cried  Tony, 
excitedly,  as  his  eye  fell  upon  a  tall, 
blonde  youth,  whose  clothes  had  evi- 
dently been  made  to  set  off  his  long 
hair  in  an  appropriate  and  harmonious 
fashion. 

"  He's  just  too  dainty  and  sweet  for 


1 6  asobcmia  ITnvaDeD. 

this  part  of  the  town.  He's  got  a 
studio  up  town  and  the  cunningest 
little  brushes  and  paints  that  are  all 
his  own,  and  there's  not  one  of  the 
other  girls  that  dares  to  touch  them. 
And  he  makes  the  prettiest  pictures 
you  ever  saw,  too,  for  he's  chock  full 
of  talent.  All  he  wants  is  a  Figaro 
Ilhcst7-^  and  a  little  tracing  paper,  and 
he'll  turn  out  some  of  the  nicest  pict- 
ures you  ever  saw  in  your  life.  But 
Clara  won't  be  long  with  us,  I'm 
afraid,  because  Garibaldi  is  going  to 
catch  and  cook  him  some  day  and 
serve  him  up  as  an  e?itree  with  tomato 
sauce.  What !  Going  so  soon. 
Clara  ?  Well,  good-night,  but  you 
needn't  bang  the  door  so  loud." 

There  was  some  merriment  at  our 
table  as  the  "gifted  young  society 
illustrator,"  as  the  fashion  writers 
usually  call  him,  beat  a  hasty  retreat, 
and  then  the  irrepressible  Tony  pro- 
ceeded : 


JBobcmfa  f nva^et). 


17 


"  There's  another  man  there  that  I 
want  you  to  notice/^  he  continued  in 
a  loud  voice  as  he  thrust  a  long  arm 
through  the  bars  and  pointed,  with  im- 
pressive skinny  forefinger,  at  one  of 
the  financiers  who  was  trying  to  es- 
cape unobserved  :  "  that  man  has  been 
hanging  to  the  curbstone  of  Broad 
Street  so  long  that  his  feet  have  turned 
into  claws  and  he  can  perch  over  the 
limb  of  a  tree  just  as  if  he  were  a 
crow  or  a  pigeon.  Vanderbilt  gets  all 
his  points  from  that  man,  because  he 
is  one  of  the  kings  of  finance.  He 
knows  what  it  is  to  make  as  high  as 
$4.83  a  day  when  he's  on  the  right  side 
of  the  market.  I  tell  you,  old  man, 
there's  no  place  in  town  where  you 
can  meet  as  many  solid  men  as  you 
can  right  here,  and  I'm  sorry  they're 
all  going  away  so  early,  because  I'd 
like  to  have  you  see  more  of  them." 

The  Philistines  were   going,  there 
was   no   mistake    about    it,  and   the 
2 


i8  3Bobemia  ITnvaDeD. 

snicker  which  had  gone  round  our 
table,  changed  to  a  roar  in  which  even 
the  Italian  contingent  at  the  table 
nearest  the  stove  joined  heartily 
as  the  last  "  floor-walker "  vanished 
through  the  door. 

And  then  Tony  and  Charley  Clay 
came  in  from  the  little  back-yard  and 
sat  down  with  us  at  our  own  table,  and 
we  feasted  and  drank  until  far  into 
the  morning,  and  from  that  day  to 
this  no  Philistine  has  ever  presumed 
to  show  his  face  in  Garibaldi's. 


WEDDED    BLISS. 


I  REMEMBER  now  that  when,  as  a 
small  boy,  I  learned  in  our  history 
class  of  that  Athenian  who  proved 
his  fitness  for  the  ballot  by  voting  for 
the  banishment  of  Aristides,  I  in- 
stantly thought  of  Herbert  Preston. 
At  that  time  he  always  kept  his  face 
and  hands  clean  and  his  hair  combed, 
and  it  was  at  that  time  that  my  female 
relations  began  a  practice,  which  they 
have  kept  up  to  the  present  day,  of 
continually  holding  him  up  to  me  as 
a  young  man  whose  example  was  to 
be  followed  by  reprobates  like  myself. 
And  this  long-drawn-out  praise  cul- 
minated in  a  burst  of  enthusiasm 
when  Herbert,  at  the  age  of  twenty- 

19 


20  'QdeDDeD  3BUS0. 

three,  made  what  they  all  declared 
was  "  a  most  judicious  and  desirable 
marriage." 

"There's  a  fine  young  man  for 
you ! "  exclaimed  my  worthy  Aunt 
Susan  ;  "  he's  married  a  good  girl,  a 
domestic  girl,  and  a  girl  who  will 
make  him  happy  and  keep  him  in  the 
right  path,  too.  Besides  that  she's 
got  $5,000  a  year  in  her  own  right, 
and  will  have  more  some  day  if  she 
keeps  on  the  right  side  of  the  old 
lady — which  she  knows  enough  to  do, 
being  a  girl  of  high  principle — and  I 
must  say,  James,  that  I  wish  you 
would  follow  your  friend's  example 
and  settle  down  instead  of  living 
the  way  you  do — Heaven  knows  how 
or  where." 

It  was  six  years  after  this  that  I 
next  met  Herbert  Preston,  and  then 
I  accepted  his  invitation  to  spend 
Sunday  at  his  house  in  Westchester 
county,  if  only  to  contrast  my  sorrow- 


MeO^eD  J5U6S.  21 

ful  bachelor  state  with  the  sunshine 
of  a  home  to  which  the  wife  brings 
$5,000  a  year,  is  looking  for  more 
when  her  mother  dies,  and  continues 
meantime  to  keep  her  husband  in  the 
right  path  and  make  him  happy  too. 

It  was  dark  when  I  alighted  from 
the  train  the  following  Saturday  after- 
noon, but  Herbert  was  waiting  for  me 
at  the  depot,  and  we  started  together 
to  walk  to  his  house,  a  quarter  of  a 
mile  away. 

"  Here  we  are,"  said  Preston  cheer- 
ily, as  he  opened  the  front  door  with 
his  night-key  and  ushered  me  into 
the  house.  "  I  guess  Mrs.  Preston's 
upstairs  with  the  baby.  Just  step 
into  the  dining-room  a  minute,"  and 
I  followed  him  with  alacrity. 

Now  when,  at  the  end  of  a  long  and 
cold  journey  on  a  winter's  evening,  a 
man  invites  a  friend  to  "  step  into  the 
dining-room,"  he  can  have  but  one 
purpose  in  view.     At  least  that  is  the 


22  mcDOeD  JBlise. 

way  I  reasoned  then,  as  I  dropped  my 
bag  in  the  hall  and  followed  Her- 
bert over  the  threshold  into  a  region 
of  cavernous  darkness. 

"  Sit  down,"  said  my  host  in  a 
pleasant,  genial  way,  and  I  did  so, 
smacking  my  lips  while  he  lit  the  gas. 
"  Just  wait  here  a  moment  while  I  go 
up  and  see  if  your  room  is  ready.  I'd 
take  you  in  the  parlor,  but  the  chil- 
dren's toys  are  all  over  the  floor,"  and 
with  these  words  he  disappeared, 
leaving  me  there  to  study  my  new 
surroundings. 

I  glanced  about  the  room  and  a 
terrible  suspicion  came  upon  me. 
No  implements  of  hospitality  were 
visible,  but  on  the  wall  hung  a  tem- 
perance motto  worked  in  red  worsted 
on  white  cardboard,  and  beside  it  an 
illuminated  certificate  of  membership 
in  the  Order  of  the  Sons  of  the 
Crystal  Fount,  while  on  the  sideboard 
stood  a  flat  bottle  with  a  rubber  tube 


attachment — one  of  those  noisome 
domestic  objects  which  ought  to  be 
kept  in  a  dark  room  like  a  sensitized 
photographic  plate. 

It  was  after  seven  when  Mrs.  Pres- 
ton appeared  upon  the  scene  to 
welcome  me.  She  was  a  fairly  good- 
looking  woman,  with  serious  dark 
eyes,  set  rather  close  together  in  her 
head,  and  suggesting,  in  fact,  almost 
betraying,  her  complete  lack  of 
humorous  sense,  while  certain  lines 
about  the  corners  of  her  mouth  indi- 
cated Calvinistic  severity  and  thrift. 

As  she  shook  my  hand  she  remarked 
carelessly  that  baby  had  been  so  cun- 
ning and  sweet  that  night  that  she  had 
played  with  him  an  hour  longer  than 
she  usually  did.  Then  we  sat  down 
at  table  and  Mrs.  Preston  asked  a 
blessing  which  we  didn't  get. 

Now  I  am  a  bit  of  a  philosopher  in 
my  way,  and  whenever  I  find  myself 
in  an  uncomfortable  position  I  always 


24  meDDcD  mi66. 

try  to  turn  the  situation  to  some  prof- 
itable account  instead  of  yielding 
to  the  melancholy  of  the  occasion. 
Therefore  I  said  to  myself  : — "  I  will 
strive  to  make  myself  agreeable  to 
this  woman,  who  appears  to  have 
fewer  interests  in  the  world  than  any- 
body I  have  ever  met.  I  do  not  wish 
to  break  up  this  happy  five-thousand 
a-year  home,  but  if  I  can  win  this  one's 
heart  no  woman  will  be  able  to  resist 
me,  and  henceforth  the  boundless  con- 
tinent will  be  mine — that  is  to  say, 
so  far  as  the  gentler  sex  is  concerned." 
Therefore,  as  soon  as  dinner  was  over 
and  we  were  all  seated  in  the  parlor, 
I  sprang  to  my  task  with  renewed 
vivacity. 

Grasping  the  conversational  oar 
firmly  in  both  hands  and  bracing  my- 
self firmly  in  my  seat,  I  asked  her  if 
she  had  read  Mr.  Howells'  last  novel. 
No,  she  did  not  think  she  had.  She 
did   not   read  novels.     Did  she  like 


Mr.  Irving  as  well  as  Mr.  Booth  ? 
She  gaped  at  me  a  moment  and  then 
inquired  if  Irving  was  not  a  play- 
actor. No,  she  did  not  approve  of 
going  to  the  theatre. 

At  this  juncture  I  almost  lost  my 
stroke  by  pausing  to  ask  her  why  she 
did  not  approve  of  theatres.  She 
replied,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
that  it  was  because  she  had  never 
been  to  one  herself.  From  which  it 
will  be  seen  that  Mrs.  Preston  pos- 
sessed a  logical  and  well-balanced 
mind. 

Having  passed  literature  and  the 
drama  in  a  few  swift  strokes,  I  wiped 
my  forehead  and  turned  my  prow 
toward  the  safe  and  placid  shoals  of 
society,  where  I  judged  I  should  find 
easy  paddling. 

Was  there  much  good  society  in  the 
town  ?  Yes,  indeed,  there  was  a  very 
pleasant  social  circle,  composed  ex- 
clusively of    the    members    of    Dr. 


26  llCle&DeD  J8li65. 

Dillar's  First  Congregational  Church, 
to  which,  fortunately  enough,  the 
Preston  family  belonged.  Her  mother, 
she  added,  had  gone  out  to  visit  one 
of  these  desirable  families  that 
composed  the  congregation,  and  she 
expected  her  back  every  moment.  In 
fact,  she  was  only  sitting  up  on  her 
account,  for  she  usually  went  upstairs 
soon  after  eight.  She  smiled  in  an 
agreeable  manner,  and  then  a  tramp- 
ing and  clattering  on  the  piazza 
denoted  the  old  lady's  return,  and 
Herbert  flew  with  suspicious  alacrity 
to  open  the  door. 

I  recognized  her  the  moment  I  saw 
her — the  ideal  mother-in-law  of  hu- 
morous fiction — for,  back  in  the  early 
seventies  I  was  one  of  a  small  and 
devoted  band  of  paragraphers  who 
were  engaged  in  holding  her  up  to 
the  delighted  gaze  of  the  American 
public. 

I    had  made   many  a  dollar  out  of 


her  in  the  old  days,  but  it  was  the 
first  time  I  had  ever  seen  her  in  the 
flesh.  She  was  even  more  severe  of 
aspect  than  her  daughter,  and  the 
hand  which  she  extended  to  me  was 
cold  and  heavy  and  lifeless,  like  a  bar 
of  lead.  In  memory  of  the  old  days 
of  "acrobatic"  humor  and  with  a 
lively  sense  of  gratitude  for  the  money 
she  used  to  put  into  my  flat  purse,  I 
endeavored  respectfully  to  draw  her 
into  conversation.  But  she  was  not 
responsive,  and  I  was  not  sorry  when 
she  and  her  daughter  departed  for  the 
upper  regions. 

Soon  afterward  Herbert  returned 
and  remarked  that  he  usually  "  re- 
tired "  at  nine  o'clock.  I  took  the 
hint  and  observed  that  my  customary 
bedtime  was  half-past  eight,  so  we 
went  upstairs  together. 

Now  I  don't  want  to  be  put  down 
as  a  crusty  old  bachelor,  nor  do  I 
wish    to   appear   in   the  light   of  one 


28  TICleDDeD  JBliee. 

despising  and  ridiculing  the  domestic 
hearthstone  and  hating  little  children. 
On  the  contrary,  I  am  very  fond  of 
little  children,  and,  when  I  was  awak- 
ened shortly  before  daybreak  by  a 
screaming  chorus  in  the  nursery  next 
to  me,  I  felt  sorry  for  the  youngsters 
who  were  getting  such  a  bad  bringing 
up. 

As  I  lay  in  my  bed,  unable  to  sleep 
because  of  the  awful  racket,  I  com- 
forted myself  grimly  by  thinking  of 
all  the  pleasant  and  beautiful  things 
that  the  Prestons  were  missing  in  this 
world  by  reason  of  what  they  are  fond 
of  terming  their  "principles,"  and 
their  squalid  custom  of  keeping  early 
hours,  a  practice  of  which  I  have 
always  seriously  disapproved. 

And  then  my  thoughts  roamed  ofif 
to  the  numberless  good  times  that  I 
have  enjoyed  in  this  vale  of  tears, 
and  I  chuckled  as  I  thought  how  many 
of  them  I  would  have  missed  had  I  in 


•Qme^^eC)  mi66. 


29 


early  life  cultivated  the  pernicious 
habit  of  going  to  bed  early. 

Then  I  sank  into  an  uneasy  slumber, 
and  dreamed  that  I  had  become  truly 
good  myself,  and  that  the  bells  were 
beginning  to  toll  for  my  marriage  to 
Mrs.  Preston's  younger  sister,  and 
then  I  awoke  and  found  that  it  was 
the  rising  bell  which  I  had  heard,  and 
I  arose,  greatly  relieved,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  dress. 

The  three  children  sat  opposite  to 
me  at  breakfast,  and  bright,  lively,  and 
vigorous  specimens  of  humanity  they 
were,  too.  I  must  say,  however,  that 
a  fistful  of  oatmeal  mush  hurled  across 
the  table  by  an  excited  infant  is  apt 
to  prove  a  formidable  projectile,  as  I 
discovered  to  my  cost  that  morning. 
It  was  Master  Herbert,  junior,  who 
performed  this  feat  in  a  sudden  gust 
of  fury,  caused  by  his  mother's  putting 
the  sugar-bowl  out  of  his  reach. 

"  My  darling,"  said  Mrs.  Preston  at 


30  lICleDOeD  mis6* 

this  exploit,  "  you  must  remember 
that  it  is  Sunday,  and  God  won't  love 
you  if  you  make  so  much  noise  to- 
day." 

"I  don't  want  God  to  love  me! 
Gimme  that  sugar-bowl !  "  howled  the 
child,  and  he  had  his  way. 

As  it  was  Sunday  the  children  v/ere 
not  allowed  to  play  with  their  toys, 
so  they  kept  the  day  holy  by  scream- 
ing for  them  and  quarrelling  with  each 
other  and  with  the  nurse  until  the 
church  bells  began  to  ring,  and  the 
mother-in-law  asked  us  rather  point- 
edly if  we  were  ready  for  church.  I 
replied  with  alacrity  that  I  was,  and 
joyfully  closed  a  volume  on  the  con- 
version of  the  Jews  which  I  had 
been  reading  at  her  suggestion.  We 
sallied  forth,  and  entered  the  church 
in  a  procession  headed  by  Herbert, 
who  escorted  his  mother-in-law  with 
a  meekness  and  deference  that  must 
have  made  it  apparent  to   the  entire 


IKfleDDcD  3BUS6.  31 

congregation  that  there  was  still  sonie 
property  in  the  family  to  divide.  Mrs. 
Preston  and  I  followed,  and  the  nurse 
and  eldest  child  brought  up  the   rear. 

When  the  parson  announced  his 
text,  Master  Herbert,  who  had  be- 
haved like  a  fried  snake  up  to  that 
moment,  was  carried  out,  and  I  leaned 
back  in  the  corner  of  the  pew,  pre- 
pared to  be  bored.  But  I  was  not 
bored.  On  the  contrary,  I  listened  to 
one  of  the  very  best  sermons  I  had 
ever  heard  in  my  life — and  one  that 
applied  perfectly  to  my  own  condition. 

He  preached  about  the  virtue  of 
patience  under  affliction,  and  remind- 
ed us  of  the  fact  that  the  ills  of  this 
life,  no  matter  how  hard  they  might 
be  to  bear,  were  visited  upon  us  for 
our  own  good,  and  that  it  was  our 
duty  to  derive  benefit  from  them 
whenever  we  could. 

I  was  introduced  to  the  preacher 
after  church  and  contrived  to  tell  him 


32  We&Oe&  m\63, 

in  an  undertone  how  much  I  had  en- 
joyed his  sermon,  adding  that  I  really 
believed  that  it  had  given  me  new 
strength  to  endure  the  troubles  which 
beset  me. 

"  Indeed,"  said  the  clergyman, 
assuming  his  professional  "sympa- 
thetic "  look,  and  preparing  to  escape, 
for  I  suppose  the  poor  man  had 
enough  to  bore  him  within  his  own 
congregation  and  could  not  extend 
his  practice   among  outside    sinners. 

"Yes,"  I  replied  meekly,  "we  all 
have  our  trials  in  this  vale  of  tears, 
and  now  I    am   staying  over  Sunday 
with  the  Prestons." 

A  broad  and  singularly  winning  and 
humorous  smile  chased  the  sympa- 
thetic look  from  the  preacher's  face  and 
told  me  that  our  sentiments  were  in 
accord.  "  I  see  that  Mrs.  Preston's 
mother  is  still  with  them,"  he  said 
quietly,  but  I  thought  meaningly,  and 
then   we   both    laughed    and   shook 


hands  cordially,  and  I  thought  what 
a  hard  time  he  must  be  having  in  that 
church. 

After  dinner  Herbert  and  1  went 
out  for  a  walk,  by  special  permission 
of  Mrs.  Preston,  and  I  took  particu- 
larly good  care  to  stay  out  until  tea- 
time,  for  I  needed  all  possible  strength 
and  refreshment  for  the  work  which 
lay  before  me  that  evening.  I  had 
determined — even  if  it  became  neces- 
sary to  sit  up  all  night — to  make  a 
favorable  impression  on  the  Prestons, 
and  I  felt  that  to  do  that  I  must  sur- 
pass all  my  previous  records  as  a  man 
of  tact  and  a  fascinating  talker. 

I  took  my  text  from  the  motto  on 
the  dining-room  v/all,  and,  as  soon  as 
we  had  adjourned  to  the  parlor,  made 
inquiries  concerning  the  local  temper- 
ance society. 

This  aroused  the  old  lady,  and  she 
told  me  that  the  local  branch  had 
accomplished  a  great  deal  of  good 
3 


34  "QClcDDct)  JSIiBS. 

and  was  in  a  very  flourishing  condi- 
tion. For  the  past  six  months  it  had 
devoted  its  entire  energies  to  the  task 
of  inducing  Dr.  Dillar,  the  clergyman 
whom  we  had  heard  that  morning,  to 
have  none  but  teetotalers  in  the 
Board  of  Trustees.  So  successful 
had  they  been  in  this  righteous  crusade 
that  they  had  already  caused  a  serious 
split  in  the  church — a  split  which  might 
eventually  drive  Dr.  Dillar  from  the 
pulpit  and  some  of  his  supporters 
from  the  congregation. 

Of  course  I  congratulated  Mrs. 
Preston  and  her  mother  on  the  amount 
of  good  they  were  accomplishing,  and 
observed  sadly  that  it  had  often 
pained  me  to  see  deacons  and  trustees 
of  churches  reeling  down  the  fashion- 
able thoroughfares  of  the  city  and 
falling  down  the  steps  of  the  chief 
places  of  worship. 

It  became  apparent  to  me  now  that 
I  was  making  a  most  excellent  impres- 


sion  on  the  company,  so  I  went  on 
to  say  in  a  mysterious  whisper,  that  I 
happened  to  know  of  the  existence  of 
a  gigantic  conspiracy  to  restore  the 
Tweed  ring  to  New  York  and  remove 
the  Vatican,  Pope  and  all,  from  Rome 
to  Milwaukee,  Wis. 

To  all  this  the  Preston  family  lis- 
tened eagerly,  but  their  faces  positively 
beamed  with  delight  when  I  went  on 
to  describe  in  a  vivid,  blood-curdling 
manner  the  iniquities  practised  by 
Roman  Catholics  and  Unitarians — it's 
always  safe  to  pitch  into  the  members 
of  either  of  those  sects — and  con- 
cluded with  a  magnificent  peroration, 
in  which  I  declared  that  we  ought  to 
be  thankful  that  we  were  not  like 
others — in  darkness  and  sin — but 
enlightened  and  liberal  Christians 
who  could  do  no  wrong.  Then  I  saw 
by  the  delight  that  beamed  on  me 
from  every  eye  that  the  field  was  won. 
And,  indeed,  the  next  morning  on  the 


36  TKIleDDcD  Mies. 

train  Herbert  told  me  that  his  wife 
and  his  mother-in-law  were  very  much 
pleased  with  me.  He  also  added 
rather  significantly  that  Mrs.  Preston 
had  an  unmarried  sister  with  five 
thousand  a  year  in  her  own  right  and 
a  chance  at  the  old  lady's  estate. 

Is  that  so  ?  Well,  I  have  an  enemy 
who  has  often  done  me  wrong  and 
who  wishes  to  make  a  good  match. 
If  I  could  only  bring  those  two  to- 
gether ! 


HIGH  ETIQUETTE  IN  HARLEM. 


*'  Now  I  want  you  to  remember  that 
these  are  very  elegant  people  we're 
going  to  call  on  to-night,  even  if  they 
do  live  in  a  little  Harlem  flat.  Their 
father  was  worth  half  a  million,  but 
he  lost  all  his  money,  and  so,  of 
course,  they  don't  get  around  among 
the  four  hundred  as  they  used  to. 
But  their  manners  are  just  as  high- 
toned  and  elegant  as  they  ever  were, 
and,  what's  more,  nobody  can  catch 
on  there  unless  his  deportment  is  gilt- 
edged.  If  you've  got  a  pair  of  gloves 
about  you,  you'd  better  draw  one  of 
them  on  and  hold  the  other  in  your 
hand.  It's  best  to  look  as  genteel  as 
you  possibly  can." 

37 


38     fbiQh  Btiquettc  in  Ibarlem. 

It  was  Mr.  Job  Pincheck  who 
addressed  these  words  to  me  as  we 
alighted  from  one  of  the  upper  stations 
of  the  elevated  railroad  and  started 
down  a  cross  street  in  which  dwelt 
the  once  wealthy  and  always  high- 
toned  family  to  whom  I  was  to  be  in- 
troduced by  ^Ir.  Pincheck.  The  hint 
on  the  subject  of  gloves  I  acted  upon 
promptly,  and  the  inference  conveyed 
in  the  delicate  emphasis  on  the  word 
"  look ''  I  accepted  with  becoming 
meekness,  for  was  not  Mr.  Pincheck 
an  authority  on  all  matters  of  fashion 
and  etiquette }  And  is  there  any 
social  circle  on  the  face  of  the  earth 
where  Etiquette — yes,  with  a  big  E — 
rules  with  such  an  arbitrary  sway  as  it 
does  in  those  adorned  by  !Mr.  Pin- 
check and  people  of  his  class  } 

I  am  sure  that  if  the  Orleans 
princes  were  to  be  introduced  into  the 
society  of  which  Mr.  Pincheck  is  a 
shining  light  they  would  be  voted  dis- 


f5lQb  Btiquettc  in  fjarlcm.    39 

tinctly  low  and  devoid  of  elegance 
and  "  style." 

In  offering  to  present  me  to  this 
coterie  of  gifted  and  charming  people 
to  which  he  has  long  enjoyed  the 
entree^  Mr.  Pincheck  paid  me  a  high 
honor,  and  I  was  visibly  conscious  of 
it.  I  was  conscious  of  it  myself,  and 
realized,  with  deep  humility,  that  I 
was  sadly  lacking  in  the  essential 
qualifications  of  a  society  favorite  of 
the  Pincheck  type.  So  I  resolved  to 
watch  my  friend  closely  and  learn 
the  real  cause  of  his  phenomenal 
popularity. 

It  was  Mrs.  De  Cay  herself  who 
admitted  us  to  the  little  front  parlor 
of  the  apartment  in  which  she  and 
her  daughters  dwelt.  A  meek,  faded, 
little  woman,  with  a  false  front  of 
brown  hair  and  a  perpetual  smirk,  she 
greeted  us  with  elaborate  courtesy, 
apologized  for  opening  the  door  in 
person — a  formula,  by  the  way,  which 


40    1bigb  jetiquctte  in  Ibarlem. 

must  never  be  omitted  in  the  society 
of  which  I  am  treating — then  asked 
us  to  be  seated  while  she  went  in 
search  of  her  daughters. 

No  sooner  had  she  disappeared  into 
the  region  of  cavernous  darkness, 
whence  issued  the  sound  as  of  the  fur- 
tive washing  of  muffled  dishes,  than 
Mr.  Pincheck  tip  toed  over  to  the 
looking-glass  and,  after  leering  at 
himself  complacently,  took  a  small 
comb  from  his  vest  pocket  and,  with 
the  aid  of  that  instrument  and  his 
own  long  and  bony  fingers,  proceeded 
to  claw  his  coarse,  reddish  hair  into  a 
fantastic  feathery  shape,  which  made 
me  blush  for  my  own  sparse,  straight 
locks.  His  toilet  finished,  he  be- 
stowed upon  me  a  critical  glance, 
conjured  me  to  not  forget  that  real 
elegance  and  style  were  the  distin- 
guishing traits  of  the  family  whom  I 
was  to  meet,  then  had  just  time  to 
hurl   himself  into  the  nearest    chair 


•fclgb  Btlquctte  In  Ibarlcm.    41 

when  the  door  opened  and  Mrs.  De 
Cay  entered  the  room,  followed  by 
her  two  daughters,  to  whom  I  was 
presented  with  an  elaborate  degree 
of  pomp  and  ceremony. 

Of  course  we  both  rose  at  the  en- 
trance of  the  ladies,  while  Mr.  Pin- 
check's  features  broke  into  a  smile  of 
winning  sweetness  and  I  grinned  as 
pleasantly  as  I  could,  and  bowed  fully 
as  low  as  did  my  companion.  The 
elder  Miss  De  Cay  said  she  was 
"  pleased  to  meet  me  ;  "  the  younger 
Miss  De  Cay  said,  "Won't  you  be 
seated .''  Let  me  take  your  hats 
please,"  thus  obeying  one  of  the  first 
laws  of  fashion  prevailing  in  that 
grade  of  society.  As  for  Mrs.  De 
Cay,  she  smiled  weakly  upon  us,  and 
hoped  we  would  make  ourselves  quite 
at  home. 

Then  we  all  sat  down,  I  in  a  red 
plush  arm-chair,  and  Mr.  Pincheck 
on  the  other  side   of  the   room,   with 


42     l)i0b  etiquette  in  Ibarlem. 

a  young  lady  on  either  side  of 
him.  I  was  led  to  suspect  that  he 
chose  this  position  so  that  he  might 
have  an  excuse  for  saying  something 
about  "  a  thorn  between  two  roses," 
for  he  speedily  enunciated  that  novel 
bit  of  pleasantry,  accompanying  it 
with  an  inane  chuckle  which  woke  an 
answering  titter  from  the  ladies,  and 
then  the  elder  Miss  De  Cay  tapped 
him  playfully  with  her  fan  and  said, 
"  Always  so  quick  at  repartee,  Mr. 
Pincheck  !  We're  positively  afraid  to 
open  our  mouths  while  you're  here." 

It  was  just  at  this  moment  that  ]\Irs. 
De  Cay,  who  had  been  feebly  leering 
at  us  from  a  low  rocking-chair,  arose, 
and  with  an  apologetic  murmur  dis- 
appeared into  the  dark  depths  whence 
she  had  come. 

All  eyes,  including  my  own,  were 
now  fixed  on  the  irresistible  Mr.  Pin- 
check,  who  had  become  metamor- 
phosed   into    something    between    a 


tblgb  Etiquette  in  tbarlem.    43 

barber's  assistant  of  the  simian  type 
and  a  jumping-jack.  His  face  was 
wreathed  with  smiles,  he  bowed  to  the 
right  and  the  left  as  he  murmured 
compliments  in  the  ears  of  the  two 
young  girls,  and  as  for  his  language, 
it  seemed  to  suddenly  blossom  out 
with  a  crop  of  long  words  and  elegant 
sentences,  such  as  I  had  never  heard 
him  use  before. 

The  fact  was  Mr.  Pinchecls:  had  on 
his  society  manners  and  was  "  show- 
ing off,"  with  the  view  of  dazzling  the 
company  with  his  brilliancy  and  let- 
ting me  know,  incidentally,  that  he 
held  a  social  trick  or  so  in  reserve 
that  could  be  played  whenever  occa- 
sion demanded  it.  I  am  sure  he  made 
a  tremendous  impression  on  all  of  us, 
for  the  young  ladies  giggled  and 
laughed  and  said,  "  Get  away,  now !  " 
incessantly,  while  I  sat  literally  spell- 
bound with  admiration  at  his  ease  of 
manner  and  steady  flow  of  idiocy. 


44    ■fiJiflb  JBtiqncttc  in  Iharlem. 

"Oh,  Mr.  Pincheck,"  cried  the 
younger  Miss  De  Cay,  "  we  really 
must  do  something  to  stop  your 
mouth ;  I  never  saw  you  in  such  a 
wicked,  satirical  mood  as  you  are  to- 
night. There !  Take  some  of  the 
caramels,  and  don't  make  us  all  laugh 
any  more  this  evening." 

"  No,  thanks,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Pin- 
check,  with  a  captivating  bow,  "  there's 
such  a  profusion  of  sweetness  here 
already  that  I  really  could  not  think 
of  eating  any  candy." 

As  he  said  this  he  cast  a  languish- 
ing glance  at  the  younger  Miss  De 
Cay,  to  which  she  responded,  looking 
at  him  over  the  top  of  her  fan,  "  I 
don't  believe  you  mean  what  you  say 
half  the  time." 

"  Ah,  how  cruel  you  are.  Miss 
Mamie,"  returned  the  other,  rising 
from  his  seat  and  taking  his  hat  from 
the  piano,  "but  once  in  a  while  I 
mean  what  I  say,  so  if  you'll  just  ex- 


1bigb  Btiquette  in  "fcarlcm.    45 

cuse  me  a  moment  I'll  prove  to  you 
that  sometimes  my  deeds  are  better 
than  my  words,"  and  to  my  great 
astonishment  he  withdrew,  taking 
with  him  a  richly  ornamented  pitcher 
which  I  had  noticed  standing  rather 
conspicuously  on  the  centre  table. 

No  sooner  had  the  door  closed  be- 
hind him  than  the  young  ladies  burst 
into  paeans  of  praise,  declaring  that 
of  all  their  gentlemen  friends  who 
visited  them  there  was  none  to  com- 
pare in  elegance  of  diction,  refine- 
ment of  manner  or  quickness  of  re- 
partee with  Mr.  Job  Pincheck. 

"  And  what  I  like  most  about  him," 
exclaimed  the  elder  Miss  De  Cay,  "  is 
that  there's  nothing  common  about 
him.  Every  action  you  see  him  make 
is  refined.  Just  look  at  how  elegant 
he  took  the  pitcher  and  stepped  out. 
Not  a  word  about  chasing  the  duck 
or  rolling  the  rock,  nor  any  of  them 
fearful  low  expressions." 


46    Ibisb  :i6tiquette  In  "fcarlem. 

"Yes  indeed,"  chimed  in  her  sister, 
"  it's  easy  to  see  that  Mr.  Pincheck's 
been  used  to  good  society.  Very  dif- 
ferent from  that  Mr.  Polkadot,  who 
came  here  once  or  twice,  and  used 
such  common,  slang  terms  that  we 
were  all  mortified  to  death.  Why, 
one  night  he  was  here,  and  we  had 
two  young  lady  friends  visiting  us. 
And  what  do  you  think  he  said  .''  He 
turned  to  me  as  cool  as  you  please 
and  said,  '  Let's  get  together  ten 
cents  and  push  the  can.'  Well,  I 
never  was  so  ashamed  in  all  my  life. 
I  just  turned  to  him  and  says,  very 
quiet  and  very  sarcastical,  '  Mr.  Pol- 
kadot, when  the  time  comes  that  we 
have  to  take  up  a  collection  for  a 
pitcher  of  beer  I'll  pass  the  hat  my- 
self.' But  it's  very  seldom  any  of  our 
gentlemen  friends  calls  here  with- 
out the  price  of  a  pint  in  their  pock- 
ets." 

"Yes,  and  you  ought  to  have  seen 


IbfSb  etiquette  In  Ibarlem.    47 

the  way  Mamie  looked  when  she  said 
it  to  him,"  exclaimed  the  elder  Miss 
De  Cay.  "  But  you'll  never  hear  a 
real  gentleman  like  Mr.  Pincheck  say 
anything  like  that.  With  him  it's 
generally,  '  Perhaps  these  ladies  will 
partake  of  some  refreshments,'  and 
then  pour  it  out  without  making  any 
remarks  about  the  collar  on  it." 

At  this  moment  the  subject  of  this 
glowing  eulogy  re-entered  the  parlor 
and  placed  on  the  centre  table  the 
pitcher,  which  was  now  full  of  beer. 
Glasses  were  produced  by  the  younger 
Miss  De  Cay,  and  the  cheering  bev- 
erage was  gracefully  and  speedily 
served  by  the  engaging  Pincheck. 

I  now  determined  to  establish  my- 
self by  one  bold  coup  in  the  esteem 
and  affection  of  the  family,  and  as  the 
beer  began  to  run  low,  and  finally 
ceased  altogether,  I  arose,  took  my 
hat  and  the  richly  decorated  pitcher, 
and  withdrew  from  the  scene  with  a 


48    fbigb  Btiquette  in  Ibarlem. 

pleasant  smile  and  a  bow,  which  I 
felt  sure  must  have  their  effect. 

"  Leave  the  door  open  so  you  can 
see,  and  mind  the  broken  rail,"  called 
the  younger  Miss  De  Cay,  as  I  groped 
my  way  down  the  dark  staircase. 

''  I'll  light  a  match  !  "  exclaimed 
Mr.  Pincheck,  following  me  out  into 
the  hall  and  whispering: — "On  the 
middle  of  the  block  above ;  a  little 
Dutch  place  across  the  street :  you 
can't  miss  it.  And  while  you  are 
about  it  you  might  as  well  get  a 
quart ;  it'll  last  longer." 

Following  these  instructions  I  found 
the  ''  little  Dutch  place  "  indicated  by 
Mr.  Pincheck,  had  the  pitcher  filled 
to  the  brim  with  foaming  beer,  and 
then  bent  my  steps  toward  the  De 
Cay  tenement. 

As  I  walked  I  reflected  upon  my 
good  fortune  in  having,  through  my 
friend's  kindness,  obtained  the  entree 
to    a    circle    in   which  eleo:ance    and 


•fcifib  Etiquette  in  Ibarlem.    49 

true  refinement  were  the  guiding  stars. 
With  the  adorable  Mr.  Pincheck  to 
copy  and  learn  from  I  felt  certain 
that  in  a  very  short  time  I  could  be- 
come a  veritable  ornament  to  the 
society  into  which  I  had  been  intro- 
duced. 

Occupied  with  these  pleasant  re- 
flections, I  entered  the  dark  hallway 
of  the  apartment  house  and  began 
the  toilsome  ascent  to  the  third  floor. 
I  climbed  slowly  and  paused  for 
breath  at  the  foot  of  the  last  flight. 
The  door  of  the  De  Cay  apartment 
was  still  open  and  the  sound  of  voices 
reached  my  ear.  And  this  is  what 
I  heard : — 

Mr.  Pincheck — Well.  I'm  afraid 
it's  no  use  trying  to  make  a  society 
man  out  of  him.  I've  had  him  out 
once  before,  but  he  didn't  catch  on  at 
all.  He  just  saved  himself  this  time 
by  going  out  for  the  beer,  but  I  don't 
think  I'll  try  it  with  him  again.  The 
4 


50    1bigb  Etiquette  In  Ibarlem. 

poor  chap  means  well,  but  he  hain't 
got  no  style. 

Elder  Miss  De  Cay — Well,  anyway, 
Mr.  Pincheck,  he  ain't  so  bad  as 
that  fearful  Polkadot,  with  his  low, 
common  expressions. 

Younger  Miss  De  Cay — Oh,  mercy, 
no ;  nothing  half  so  awful  as  that 
man  was.  The  only  trouble  with 
this  one  is  that  you  can  see  at  once 
he  hain't  never  been  in  no  society  to 
speak  of.  He  hain't  had  the  ad- 
vantages you  have,  Mr.  Pincheck,  and 
I'm  ::ure  if  he  was  to  go  about 
oftener  with  you  he'd  improve  a  great 
deal. 

Mr.  Pincheck  (and  I  knew  he  was 
shaking  his  head  sadly) — No  use, 
I'm  afraid ;  he  hain't  got  society  in 
his  blood,  and  he  won't  never  be  any 
good.  Hush  !  here  he  comes  up  the 
stairs.  (A  moment  later) — Well,  old 
man,  back  again?  Pretty  tough 
climbing    for    a   fat    man    like    you. 


*23fgb  lEtlquette  in  Ibarlcm.    51 

Just    go    to    the    glass    and    look    at 
your  cheeks. 

Since  that  evening  I  have  given  up 
trying  to  shine  in  a  circle  for  which 
Nature  never  intended  me. 


THE  TALENT  IN  THE  NAPKIN. 


Now  a  certain  man  who  was  about 
to  journey  into  a  far  country  called 
his  brokers  unto  him  and  gave  unto 
one  of  them  five  talents,  unto  another 
two  and  unto  the  third  one  talent, 
and  bade  them  go  forth  and  operate 
during  his  absence. 

And  after  a  time  the  customer  re- 
turned and,  calling  his  brokers 
around  him,  said  unto  the  one  to 
whom  he  had  given  the  live  talents  : 
"  Where  is  the  money  I  entrusted  to 
you  ?  " 

And  the  broker  replied :  "  My 
lord,  I  went  short  on  Western  Union 
and    long   on    Omaha    until  the   five 

53 


54     <^t)c  C^alent  in  tbe  "flapmn. 

talents  became  ten  talents,  and 
then " 

'•  And  then  ?  '"  exclaimed  the  rich 
man. 

"  And  then  the  commissions  ate  it 
all  up.''  responded  the  broker, 
placidly. 

••  I  am  glad,"  observed  the  cus- 
tomer, *'  that  you  did  not  go  any 
longer  on  Omaha,  because  if  you  had 
there  is  no  telling  how  much  the 
commissions  would  have  devoured 
besides  the  ten  talents.  And  you," 
he  continued,  addressing  the  second 
broker.  "  where  are  the  two  talents 
which  I  gave  unto  you  ?  " 

'•  I  put  them  into  puts  and  calls 
until  they  became  four  talents,  and 
then — — " 

'•  And  then  ?  "  cried  the  rich  man, 
hopefully. 

"  And  then  they  were  called  for,'*' 
was  the  rejoinder. 

"And    vou."    said    the    customer. 


Zbc  Calent  In  tbe  "Rapftin.     55 

sadly,  turning  to  the  third  broker, 
"where  is  the  single  talent  which 
I  left  with  you  ?  " 

And  the  broker  straightway  re- 
plied :  "  My  lord,  I  knew  that  you 
were  an  unreasonable  man  and 
desired  to  reap  where  you  had  sown, 
so  I  hid  the  talent  in  a  napkin,  so 
that  you  might  have  it  again  on  you*- 
return.     Here  it  is/' 

"  Is  it  possible  that  I  have  got 
something  back  ?  "  cried  the  delighted 
customer.  "I  am  glad  that  you  did 
not  place  it  in  a  bank '' 

"  No,  I  have  been  a  bank  director 
myself,"  said  the  broker. 

And  then  the  rich  man  knew  that 
the  broker  was  a  great  financier  and 
he  gave  him  all  his  business,  so  that 
he  entered  into  the  joy  and  pocket- 
book  of  his  customer. 


A  DINNER  IN  POVERTY  FLAT. 


"  Fifth  floor  ;  you  can't  miss  it, 
because  there  is  a  dispossess  notice 
stuck  on  the  door ! "  and  with  a 
cheerful  salute,  my  friend,  Mr. 
William  Buskin,  bounded  to  the  front 
platform  of  a  passing  horse-car,  and 
left  me  standing  on  the  curb,  fully 
committed  to  take  dinner  with  him 
in  Poverty  Flat  the  following  Sun- 
day. 

It  was  the  middle  of  a  hot  sum- 
mer. My  friend  Buskin  and  salary 
had  been  strangers  to  one  another 
for  two  months  to  my  certain  knowl- 
edge, and  the  chance  of  renewing  the 
acquaintance  for  two  months  to  come 
was  very  slender.     He  lived  with  two 

57 


58    B  ©inner  in  poverty  Jflat. 

or  three  friends,  as  needy  as  himself, 
in  a  small  flat  west  of  Sixth  Avenue. 
The  apartment  in  which  the  thespians 
dwelt  was  situated  in  a  tall  building 
called  the  Gilt-Edge,  which  also 
sheltered  a  large  number  of  ladies 
and  gentlemen  identified  with  Litera- 
ture, Art,  jNIusic,  and  the  Drama. 
By  reason  of  the  jovial  proclivities  of 
most  of  the  tenants,  their  proficiency 
in  vocal  and  instrumental  music,  and 
the  number  of  pianos  and  violins  main- 
tained on  the  premises,  the  Gilt-Edge 
Apartment  House  was  frequently  on 
summer  evenings  the  fountainhead 
of  mirth  and  melody,  and  a  note- 
worthy feature  of  the  block  on  which 
it  stood. 

I  could  not  for  the  life  of  me,  com- 
prehend how  Mr.  Buskin,  with  noth- 
ing in  his  pockets  but  the  dollar  I 
had  just  lent  him,  and  with  a  dis- 
possess notice  hanging  on  the  outer 
walls    of  his  abode,  could  have  the 


B  Dinner  in  tovcxt^  ^lat.     59 

hardihood  to  give  a  dinner-party; 
but,  then,  his  was  one  of  those  bright 
volatile  natures  that  are  never  cast 
down  by  adverse  circumstances  ;  so 
I  simply  gave  up  wondering,  and 
made  up  my  mind  to  accept  the  in- 
vitation, and  to  hope  for  the  best. 

When  I  entered  the  Gilt-Edge 
Apartment  House  on  Sunday  after- 
noon, I  found  that  building  com- 
pletely given  over  to  the  Muses.  It 
seemed  to  me,  as  I  clambered  slowly 
upstairs,  that  there  was  a  farce-com- 
edy company  reliearsing  in  every 
room.  The  vibrant  melody  of  the 
banjo  filled  the  second  floor  ;  the  oc- 
cupants of  the  floor  above  were 
uniting  their  forces  in  a  terrific  song 
and  dance  ;  while  the  fourth  floor 
fairly  rang  with  the  discordant  notes 
of  the  piano  and  a  violin,  blending 
with  half  a  dozen  voices  in  '^  Com- 
rades." On  the  fifth  floor  I  easily 
found  the   door  with   the   dispossess 


6o    B  Dinner  in  ipovcrts  Jflat. 

notice,  knocked  on  it,  and  was  ad- 
mitted to  Poverty  Flat. 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  old  man  !  "  cried 
Mr.  Buskin,  taking  his  heels  off  the 
table,  and  grasping  me  cordially  by 
the  hand.  "  Step  right  in,  and  let 
me  introduce  you  to  my  old  friend 
Horatio  Rungdown,  my  first  manager, 
who  is  staying  with  us  for  a  few 
days  ;  and  this  is  Charley  Props,  who 
'was  out  with  us  last  season." 

Mr.  Rungdown,  a  smooth-shaven 
gentleman  of  advanced  years,  arose 
and  greeted  me  with  punctilious 
courtesy.  His  eyes  were  bright,  his 
linen  clean  but  frayed,  and  his  black 
coat  buttoned  tightly  across  his  breast. 
He  impressed  me,  somehow,  as  being 
in  straitened  circumstances,  and  yet 
he  carried  himself  with  an  air  of 
martial  dignity  that  was  imposing,  to 
say  the  least. 

"  I  am  glad  to  make  your  acquaint- 
ance, sir,"  he  said  in  tones  of  mingled 


B  Dinner  in  povctt^  jplat.     6r 

dignity  and  deference.  **  I  am  under 
very  great  obligations  to  the  Press  for 
its  hearty  recognition  of  my  efforts 
from  the  very  moment  of  my  arrival  in 
this  country,  forty  years  ago.  In  fact, 
sir,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  generous 
treatment  accorded  me  by  the  Ameri- 
can Press,  I  doubt  if  I  ever  would 
have  reached  the  place  in  my  pro- 
fession which  I  can  now  call  my  own  : 
and  during  my  career  of  forty  years 
in  this  country,  playing  a  wide  range 
of  parts,  from  the  humblest  to  the 
highest,  I  have  never  denied  that  it 
is  the  enlightened  and  discerning 
critics  who  have  made  me  what  I  am." 
At  the  conclusion  of  this  address — - 
delivered  as  if  it  had  been  accom- 
panied by  the  freedom  of  the  City  of 
London — Mr.  Rungdown  resumed  his 
chair,  and  took  up  the  work  on  which 
he  had  been  engaged  when  I  entered. 
That  was  tying  a  large  steel  fork 
securely  to  the  end  of  a  long  pole. 


62    21  Dinner  in  {poverty  ^lat. 

Mr.  Props,  who  had  been  gazing 
intently  out  at  the  window,  as  if 
watching  for  some  one,  nodded 
pleasantly  to  me  without  relaxing  his 
vigilance.  Nor  did  he  turn  his  head 
when,  at  the  close  of  Mr.  Rungdown's 
harangue,  he  remarked  : 

*'  Billy,  hadn't  you  better  offer 
your  friend  something  to  drink  ?  It's 
dry  work  listening,  such  weather  as 
this." 

While  Mr.  Buskin  w^as  rummaging 
in  some  far-away  closet  for  a  clean 
glass,  I  saw  Mr.  Props  suddenly 
leave  his  post  by  the  window,  tip- 
toe out  into  the  hall,  and  then  sus- 
pend himself  head-down  in  a  listening 
attitude  over  the  balusters.  As  he 
re-entered  the  room  a  moment  later, 
Mr.  Rungdown  looked  up  from  his 
work  inquiringly,  and  the  other 
nodded. 

"  Hurry  up,  Billy  !  "  he  called  to 
his  friend,  who  was  now  looking  for 


B  Dinner  in  jpovcrtg  jflat.     6^ 

the  whisky  bottle  ;  "  the  coast's  all 
clear,  they've  both  gone  out." 

"  Perhaps,"  suggested  Mr.  Rung- 
down,  "your  friend  would  like  to  go 
into  the  front  parlor,  and  entertain 
himself  with  the  books  and  engrav- 
ings while  we  prepare  the  repast." 

This  apparently  commonplace  re- 
mark threw  the  others  into  convul- 
sions of  laughter,  on  their  recovery 
from  which  my  friend  Buskin  said  : 

"  The  fact  is,  my  dear  boy,  we 
shall  need  your  assistance  not  only 
in  preparing  the  repast,  but  in  pro- 
curing it;  and,  besides,  I  doubt  if  the 
books  and  encjravings  in  the  front 
parlor  would  interest  you  as  much  as 
the  study  of  still  life  that  you  can  ob- 
tain at  the  rear  end  of  the  apartment. 
You  must  remember  that  you  are 
now  in  Poverty  Flat,  where  the  meals 
at  this  time  of  the  year  are  seldom., 
and  are  obtained,  when  obtained,  by 
the    most    artistic    hustling     imagin- 


64    21  Dinner  in  poverty  jflat. 

able.  Is  that  fork  all  right,  Rung- 
down  ? " 

The  fork  was  all  right,  and  Mr. 
Props  called  me  to  the  window,  which 
opened  on  a  wide,  light  air-shaft,  and 
pointed  downward  to  the  window  of 
the  opposite  apartment  on  the  floor 
below.  This  window,  like  ours,  was 
open,  and  just  inside  it  stood  a  good- 
sized  ice-chest. 

"  That  box,"  said  ^Ir.  Props,  dra- 
matically, "  contains  our  dinner,  and 
we've  got  just  ten  minutes  to  get  it 
in.  Billy,  give  me  that  spear,  and  all 
of  you  take  hold  of  me,  and  see  to  it 
that  I  don't  fall." 

He  leaned  far  out  over  the  window- 
ledge,  while  we  grasped  him  by  the 
legs  and  ankles,  and  held  on  for  dear 
life — that  is  to  say,  his  dear  life — and 
our  dinners.  By  a  quick  lunge  of  the 
pole  the  fork  was  embedded  in  the 
lid  of  the  ice  chest,  and  as  quickly 
pulled  back,  leaving  the  chest  open, 


B  Dinner  In  porertis  Iflat.     65 

and  revealing  a  feast  which  brightened 
the  eyes  and  quickened  the  pulses  of 
old  Mr.  Rungdown  in  a  way  that  was 
almost  pathetic. 

"  I  say,  Charley  !  "  cried  the  old 
man,  "you'd  better  make  sure  of 
that  beefsteak  the  first  thing  you 
do.  That's  too  good  a  thing  to  be 
missed." 

It  was  a  magnificent-looking  steak, 
to  be  sure ;  and  beside  it  were  half 
a  peck  of  sweet  potatoes,  half  a  dozen 
huge  Spanish  onions,  two  pine- 
apples, and  any  number  of  bottles  of 
beer.  Charley  "made  sure  of  "  the 
beefsteak  with  one  fell  swoop  of  the 
steel  prongs,  and  I  know  I  almost 
yelled  with  delight  as  old  Rungdown 
seized  it  with  trembling  fingers,  and 
hauled  it  in  over  the  window-sill. 
"The  onions  next,  my  boy!"  ex- 
claimed the  worthy  histrion  ;  "  they  go 
beautifully  with  a  steak  like  that ;  " 
and  up  came  the  onions  one  after 
5 


66    B  Dinner  in  poverty?  3flat. 

another,  followed  quickly  by  the  sweet 
potatoes  and  pine-apples.  Then  Mr. 
Props  hauled  himself  in,  black  in  the 
face  from  his  exertions  while  sus- 
pended in  mid-air.  "  It's  your  turn 
now,  Billy,"  he  gasped,  as  he  sank 
into  a  chair ;  "  you're  the  lasso  ex- 
pert in  the  crowd." 

Mr.  Buskin  therefore  took  his  stand 
at  the  window  with  a  long  piece 
of  twine  in  his  hand,  and,  making  a 
slip-noose  at  one  end,  deftly  guided 
it  by  aid  of  the  pole  to  a  snug  posi- 
tion round  the  neck  of  one  of  the 
beer  bottles,  and  a  moment  later  it 
was  drawn  up  and  added  to  the  re- 
cently acquired  larder. 

Meantime  Mr.  Rungdown  had  not 
been  idle.  No  longer  needed  as  a 
sheet  anchor  to  the  piratical  Mr. 
Props,  he  had  busied  himself  in  the 
little  kitchen,  and  now  the  smoke  that 
filled  the  whole  apartment  told  us 
that  he  had  succeeded  in  lighting  a 


B  Dinner  in  ipovcrti?  iflat.     67 

fire  in  the  range.  Mr.  Rungdown,  to 
do  him  justice,  always  strove  to  make 
his  "  visits  "  as  agreeable  to  his  host 
and  fellow-guests  as  he  possibly 
could,  by  lending  a  hand  at  the  stove 
or  following  the  precarious  chase  of 
food  with  a  skill  and  zest  that  were 
really  remarkable  in  one  of  his  age. 

And  now,  the  fire  having  been  in- 
duced to  burn  lustily  and  cheerily, 
Mr.  Rungdown  proceeded  to  the  table, 
going  about  the  task  with  a  stately 
dignity  befitting  an  impersonation  of 
Juliics  Ccesar.  The  last  bottle  of  beer 
having  been  drawn  up,  the  lid  of  the 
ice-chest  was  closed  by  Mr.  Buskin, 
and  we  all  set  to  work  to  prepare  the 
dinner.  The  sweet  potatoes  were  em- 
bedded in  the  hot  embers  and  the 
onions  placed  in  a  stew-pan.  The 
steak,  the  piece  de  resistance  of  the 
banquet,  was  entrusted  to  Mr.  Rung- 
down, the  most  accomplished  cook  in 
the   company,   and    appetizing  odors 


68    a  2>inncr  in  povertis  ^lat. 

presently  began  to  pervade  the 
room. 

It  was  Mr.  Rungdown,  himself,  who 
gave  us  the  signal  to  begin  by  depos- 
iting the  steak  on  a  well-heated 
platter,  and  placing  it  in  the  centre 
of  the  table  with  the  remark  :  "  Now, 
gentlemen,  if  you  will  take  your  places 
and  divide  the  steak  into  four  equal 
portions,  I  will  rake  out  the  other 
delicacies  from  the  ashes." 

"  I  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Tvlr. 
Props,  gravely,  as  he  marked  the 
thick,  juicy  piece  of  meat  for  dissec- 
tion, "  it's  lucky  our  neighbors  down- 
stairs have  not  only  the  means,  but 
the  good  taste,  as  well,  to  provide  us 
with  such  an  excellent  repast.  Now, 
just  look  at  this  steak — juicy,  tender 
and  cut  thick,  as  it  ought  to  be.  I 
tell  you  it  pays  to  get  the  best  when 
you're  out  marketing." 

"  Especially  when  you  do  your 
marketing  with  a  lasso  and  a  spear," 


21  ©Inner  In  poverty?  flat.     69 

remarked  Mr.  Buskin,  whereat  we  all 
laughed  uproariously.  We  could  well 
afford  to,  with  the  odor  of  the  steak  as- 
cending to  our  nostrils,  and  Mr.  Rung- 
down  dishing  the  onions  and  sweet 
potatoes  with  his  usual  adroitness. 

The  meal  progressed  merrily,  and 
just  as  we  reached  the  dessert  the 
door  opened  and  in  walked  a  gentle- 
man with  a  high  silk  hat,  a  heavy 
moustache,  a  gaudy  waistcoat  and  a 
look  of  annoyance  on  his  face. 

From  the  alacrity  and  deference 
with  which  my  hosts  rose  to  greet  him 
I  concluded  that  he  must  be  a  person 
of  considerable  importance  in  their 
immediate  circle. 

"  Sit  down,  Mr.  Dates  !  "  exclaimed 
Charley,  with  smiling  cordiality  ;  "  I 
hope  you've  come  to  see  us  about 
that  engagement.  Well,  we're  just 
ready  to  sign  with  you  for  next  season, 
and  very  glad " 

"  Engagement     be     blowed  !  "    ex- 


70    B  Dinner  in  t>ovcvt^  J^lat. 

claimed  Mr.  Dates,  testily  ;  "  I  want 
to  know  what  sort  of  a  place  this 
Gilt-Edge  Apartment  is,  anyhow. 
My  wife  and  I  just  moved  in  yester- 
day down  on  the  floor  below.  Stepped 
out  for  a  little  walk  this  afternoon, 
and  took  care  to  lock  the  door  be- 
hind us.  Had  our  dinner  put  care- 
fully away  in  the  ice-chest,  fine  beef- 
steak  '' 

Just  at  this  point  !Mr.  Dates  stopped, 
for  his  glance  had  fallen  upon  I\Ir. 
Rungdown  who,  in  the  most  natural 
and  careless  way  in  the  world,  was 
conveying  two  large  pine-apples  from 
the  table  to  his  lap. 

I  felt  a  cold  chill  run  down  my 
back  as  the  manager  advanced  to  the 
table — just  as  ^^Ir.  Rungdown  disap- 
peared under  it  in  the  most  easy  and 
graceful  manner  imaginable — picked 
up  the  pole  with  the  fork  lashed  to 
it,  and  then  cast  an  avv-ful,  withering 
glance  about  our  little  group. 


B  Btnner  in  poverty  flat,     71 

"  So  that's  the  way  you  get 
your  dinners,  is  it  ? "  he  exclaimed, 
while  his  face  turned  almost  white, 
and  Mr.  Props  and  I  mentally  cal- 
culated our  chances  of  getting  past 
him  and  through  the  door,  in  case  of 
necessity. 

"  Yes,"  he  continued,  glancing  at 
the  window,  "  you  have  an  excellent 
location  here  for  doing  your  market- 
ing. I  guess  I'll  get  a  ham,  myself," 
and  he  made  a  violent  lunge  at  Mr. 
Buskin.  The  actor  avoided  the  spear- 
thrust,  and  the  fork  was  imbedded  in 
the  wall.  Before  the  manager  could 
extricate  it,  Mr.  Props  had  opened 
the  door,  and  all  three  of  us  were  out 
on  the  landing.  As  we  sped  down 
the  stairs,  I  glanced  between  the  rails 
and  caught  a  glimpse  of  'Sir.  Dates 
plunging  his  spear  under  the  table  ; 
but  Vv'hen  we  reached  the  street,  a 
cheerful  shout  revealed  the  aged 
Rungdown,  who,    with    a    nimbleness 


72    B  Dinner  in  poverty  fflat. 

which  must  have  been  the  fruit  of 
long  experience,  was  descending  the 
fire-escape,  where  the  irate  manager 
dared  not  follow  him. 

I  will  mention,  in  conclusion,  the 
fact  that  not  one  of  my  friends  was 
engaged  to  go  out  that  season  under 
the  management  of  Mr.  Augustus 
Dates. 


THE  BETTER  ELEMENT. 


Over  on  the  east  side  of  the  town, 
in  the  populous  region  which  lies  a 
little  to  the  north  of  Cherry  Hill,  and 
within  hearing  of  the  roar  and  rumble 
of  the  Second  and  Third  Avenue  Ele- 
vated Railroads,  stands  a  building 
which  has  sheltered  beneath  its  roof 
many  of  the  greatest  statesmen  in  the 
city,  and  which,  during  those  autumn 
days  when  the  political  cauldron  is 
seething  and  bubbling,  is  the  Mecca 
toward  which  are  forever  turned  the 
eyes  of  those  who  wish  to  sell  tickets 
for  clambakes,  to  get  advertisements 
for  ball  programmes,  or  to  obtain  for 
a  brother,  a  father,  or  a  cousin  a  job 

73 


74        ^bc  :©ctter  :!£lement. 

in  the  Custom  House,  on  the  big 
pipes,  or  perhaps  only  on  a  broom. 

Far  and  wide  through  the  land  this 
building  is  celebrated  as  the  saloon 
of  William  (better  known  as  "  Ash 
Barrel  ")  Snyder  ;  and  at  the  moment 
of  which  I  write,  three  men,  each 
one  a  power  in  local  statecraft,  were 
seated  in  the  private  room  of  the 
saloon,  engaged  in  a  discussion  of 
weighty  political  matters. 

The  host  was  a  small,  wiry  man  of 
German  extraction  and  New  York 
bringing  up,  who  owed  his  sobriquet 
to  the  bill  which  he  once  introduced 
in  the  Assembly  at  a  critical  moment 
in  his  career,  and  which  served  to  at- 
tach to  him  at  once  the  votes  of  hun- 
dreds of  his  old-time  followers  who 
were  at  that  moment  w^avering  in  their 
allegiance. 

This  bill,  Vv'hich  gave  him  the  pseu- 
donym which  he  has  ever  since 
borne,    was    one    well-calculated    to 


Zbe  JBettcr  Element.         75 

awaken  the  enthusiasm  of  the  labor- 
ing classes.  It  made  it  a  felony  for 
any  city  contractor  to  allow  an  ash 
barrel,  either  full  or  empty,  to  be 
moved  unless  at  least  three  citizens 
and  voters  had  hold  of  it  at  the  same 
time. 

The  other  men  in  the  party  were 
Elisha  (better  known  as  "  Sewer  Job  ") 
Dusenbury,  and  Patrick  (commonly 
called  "  St.  Patrick  ")  Moriarty.  The 
former  owed  his  name  and  a  great 
part  of  his  fame  to  his  immortal 
measure  in  behalf  of  the  downtrodden 
workingmen  of  New  York — a  bill 
which  provided  for  the  taking  up  and 
reversing  of  every  gas  and  water  main 
in  the  city.  Mr.  Mori  arty 's  chief  claim 
to  popular  notice  was  based  on  his 
famous  amendment  to  Mr.  Dusen- 
bury's  sewer  bill,  and  which  made  it  a 
misdemeanor  to  sell  oranges  on  the 
route  of  the  St.  Patrick's  Day  parade 
on  the   seventeenth   of   March.     The 


76        ^be  JBettec  Element, 

three  statesmen  were  seated  about  a 
round  table,  on  which  stood  glasses, 
sugar,  and  one  or  two  corpulent  bot- 
tles, when  the  door  opened  and  a 
stranger  entered  and  closed  it  behind 
him.  Throwing  aside  the  heavy 
ulster  in  which  he  was  muffled,  he  ad- 
vanced to  the  table  and  held  out  his 
hand.  The  three  men  leaped  to  their 
feet  and  gave  him  a  hearty  welcome. 

"  Sit  down,  sir  !  "  cried  Mr. 
Snyder ;  "  and  if  it  is  not  against 
your  principles,  join  us  in  a  drink." 

"  I  don't  care  if  I  do  have  some- 
thing," replied  the  visitor.  "  For, 
although  you  gentlemen  well  know  it 
is  against  my  public  principles,  as 
expressed  in  the  halls  of  legislation, 
to  drink  anything  stronger  than  water, 
still  it's  not  against  my  private  New 
York  principles." 

The  presence  of  the  newcomer  at 
the  same  table  with  the  three  men 
with    whom   he   was   apparently    on 


Zbc  :©etter  ^element.         77 

familiar  terms  was  a  realization  of  the 
old  saying,  "  Politics  makes  strange 
bedfellows."  He  was  a  young  man 
of  not  much  more  than  thirty,  with 
a  clear-cut,  intelligent  face,  and  it 
was  evident  from  his  well-groomed 
appearance  that  he  belonged  to  what 
his  companions  would  have  called 
"  the  swallow-tail  crowd." 

"  And  what  brings  you  here  to- 
night ? "  inquired  Mr.  Moriarty,  as 
their  glasses  clinked. 

"  I  came  here  to  get  advice  from 
you  gentlemen,  for  I  am  sure  that 
after  pulling  together  as  well  as  we 
have  for  the  last  two  or  three  years 
you  are  the  best  men  I  can  go  to  for 
friendly  counsel." 

"  Right  you  are  !  "  cried  Mr. 
Snyder.  "  If  it  wasn't  for  you  I  do 
not  know  how  we  would  have  been 
able  to  get  through  the  last  session. 
It  is  not  every  year  that  the  Brown- 
stone    District   sends  up    a  man  like 


78         ^be  3Bettcr  Element. 

you.  There  was  that  scallawag  of  a 
Straightcut  that  was  in  Albany  five 
years  ago.  He  not  only  wouldn't 
take  anything  for  his  vote  himself, 
but  he  was  always  pounding  them  as 
did.  Now,  of  course,  you  never  got 
anything  for  your  vote — no  more  than 
the  rest  of  us  did,  for  that  matter — 
but,  then,  I  never  knew  you  to  raise  a 
word  to  make  it  unpleasant  for  any 
one  who  needed  a  thousand-dollar 
note  and  took  it  where  it  would  be 
the  least  missed.  But  what  can  we 
do  for  you  now  ?  " 

"  Well,"  said  the  young  man,  *''  I 
have  got  to  get  up  some  scheme  for 
getting  through  that  bill  to  turn 
Washington  Square  into  a  repair  shop 
for  the  Elevated  Railroad,  or  else 
another  man  will  be  sent  to  Albany 
in  my  place.  Now,  what  would  you 
advise  .''  " 


Half  an  hour  later  the  young  man 


Zbc  Better  JElement.         79 

rose  to  leave,  shaking  hands  as  he  did 
so  with  his  three  friends,  and  assur- 
ing them  that  he  was  only  too  grate- 
ful for  their  counsel  and  promise  of 
assistance,  and  would  certainly  recip- 
rocate as  soon  as  the  opportunity 
offered  itself. 

***** 

The  four  friends  stood  together 
shoulder  to  shoulder  at  the  next 
session  of  the  Legislature,  and  so 
successful  were  they  that  the  young 
man's  influential  New  York  friends 
promised  that  his  devotion  to  the 
interests  of  the  great  corporations  of 
his  native  city  should  never  be  for- 
gotten, and  declared  that  he  had 
taken  a  good  start  on  the  path  that 
leads  direct  to  the  gubernatorial  chair. 

Did  he  introduce  the  Washington 
Square  bill  himself  ?  No,  he  did  not. 
He  introduced  a  bill  well  calculated  to 
meet  the  approval  of  the  Silk  Stock- 
ing District,  and  which  made  it  a  penal 


8o         ^be  aBetter  Blement. 

offence  to  use  profane  language 
during  church  hours  on  Sunday. 
And  under  cover  of  the  discussion 
created  by  this  bill,  his  trusted  friend, 
Assemblyman  Dusenbury,  introduced 
the  Washington  Park  bill,  and  it 
passed  almost  unnoticed.  And,  in 
return  for  this  kindness,  the  young 
man  made  the  most  eloquent  speech 
of  his  life  in  favor  of  Ash  Barrel 
Snyder's  amendment  to  his  own 
original  measure,  and  providing  that 
there  should  be  two  men  to  every 
broom  in  the  Street  Cleaning  Depart- 
ment— one  man  to  lift  it  up  and  the 
other  to  put  it  down. 

But  who  was  this  young  man  ? 
Why,  he  is  simply  what  is  usually 
termed  "  the  better  element  in 
politics." 


THE  SQUARER. 


By  a  fortunate  provision  of  nature 
a  balm  is  supplied  for  every  wound, 
a  redress  for  every  wrong,  an  antidote 
for  every  poison,  and,  as  the  march 
of  time  adds  to  the  existing  complica- 
tions of  life  new  dilemmas,  so  does 
nature  at  the  same  time  offer  new 
ways  of  avoiding  them. 

The  Squarer  is  by  no  means  a 
modern  product.  He  has  existed,  in 
a  primitive  form,  it  is  true,  at  all 
times  and  in  every  climate,  but  it  is 
doubtful  if  he  ever  reached  such  a 
high  state  of  development  as  in  the 
present  period  in  which  his  services 
are  in  almost  constant  demand. 

I  take  it  for  granted  that  most  of 
6  8i 


82  ^be  Squart^r. 

my  readers  know  what  I  mean  when  I 
speak  of  a  Squarer,  and,  indeed,  there 
are  many  happy  households  in  which 
he  is  a  familiar  figure,  but  for  the 
sake  of  the  few  who  have  never  been 
brought  in  direct  contact  with  this 
unique  and  useful  character  I  will 
state  that  the  Squarer  is  the  high- 
minded  philanthropist  whose  sole  mis- 
sion in  life  is  to  succor  those  unfortu- 
nates who,  having  pledged  the  wine- 
cup  with  convivial  spirits  until  an  un- 
earthly hour  in  the  morning,  are  afraid 
to  go  home  unless  accompanied  by 
some  diplomatic  friend  who  can  by 
sheer  force  of  tact,  good-humor,  and 
adroitness,  restore  them  partially  to 
the  place  which  they  ought  to  occupy 
as  the  heads  of  their  respective  house- 
holds— in  short,  to  "square  them" 
with  their  wives. 

The  difficulties  and  dangers  which 
beset  the  Squarer  in  the  performance 
of  his  self-imposed  duties  are  apparent 


Zbc  Squarer.  s$ 

to  every  one  with  the  slightest  expe- 
rience in  life  and  its  vicissitudes,  and 
the  fact  that  his  labor  is  never  done 
for  hire  and  is  invariably  a  matter  of 
pure  charity  redounds  all  the  more  to 
his  credit. 

My  own  opinion  is  that  a  coming 
century  will  see  the  greater  part  of 
the  domestic  "  squaring  "  entrusted  to 
professionals,  but  at  present  it  is  ex- 
clusively an  amateur  calling,  just  as 
baseball  was  some  years  ago.  And  as 
the  amateur  photographers  are  said  to 
surpass  their  professional  brethren  in 
artistic  skill,  so  have  the  amateur 
Squarers  raised  their  delicate  and 
humane  art  to  a  plane  so  high  that  it 
will  be  difficult  for  any  mere  money- 
getting  professional  to  ever  hope  to 
rival  them.  They  may,  however,  sur- 
pass the  amateurs  in  the  matter  of 
mechanical  appliances  and  devices 
designed  to  facilitate  their  work,  but 
of  this  I  will  speak  later. 


84  ^be  Squarer. 

The  Squarer  who  follows  his  calling 
for  pure  love  of  it  is  invariably  a 
bachelor,  living  in  rooms  which  are  in 
most  cases  on  the  ground  floor,  and 
invariably  contain  as  a  necessary  arti- 
cle of  furniture  an  immense  horse- 
hair sofa  or  lounge,  soft  enough  to 
induce  slumber  and  long  and  broad 
enough  to  accommodate  the  tallest 
and  most  corpulent  inebriate  that  ever 
waked  a  friend  from  a  sound  sleep 
at  half-past  four  in  the  morning  by 
throwing  snow-balls  against  his  win- 
dow and  begging  to  be  let  in. 

The  professional  Squarer  will  proba- 
bly sleep  like  a  fireman,  with  a  '*  turn- 
out "  beside  his  bed,  and  slide  down 
a  greased  pole  in  his  anxiety  to  admit 
the  caller  who  requires  his  services. 
Perhaps  the  competition  will  be  so 
sharp  that  other  Squarers  will  attempt 
to  wrest  his  client  from  his  grasp,  and 
I  am  positive  that  each  client  will  be 
provided  with  a  comfortable  bed  and 


XLbc  Squacer.  85 

the  very  best  of  attendance.  Never- 
theless, the  squaring  that  will  be  ac- 
complished by  the  fee-seeking  profes- 
sional, aided  though  he  be  by  the 
finest  machinery  and  a  complete 
system  of  electric  signals,  will  no  more 
compare  in  results  with  the  loving 
work  of  the  zealous  amateur  than  that 
onion-scented  abomination  known  as 
fricatelle  will  compare  with  good  home- 
made corned  beef  hash. 

Nor  will  the  sleep  of  honest  ine- 
briety be  any  sweeter  or  more  restful 
behind  pink  silk  curtains  and  beneath 
an  eider-down  quilt  than  on  the  old 
horse-hair  lounge  with  a  cushion  for 
a  pillow  and  an  old  ulster,  carefully 
spread  and  tucked  in  by  the  Squarer, 
for  a  covering. 

The  Squarer  is,  as  I  have  said 
before,  a  bachelor,  and  he  always 
possesses  a  wide  circle  of  friends  of 
convivial  tendencies  who  seem  to 
have  some  mysterious  claim  upon  his 


86  Zbc  Squarer. 

services  and  are  liable  to  call  upon 
him  at  any  hour  of  the  day  or  night 
— chiefly  in  the  gray  hours  of  the 
early  morning.  As  a  general  thing  a 
Squarer  remains  single  to  the  day  of 
his  death,  partly  because  marriage 
would  interfere  seriously  with  the 
practice  of  the  profession  to  which  he 
has  given  his  life,  and  partly  because 
the  mere  fact  of  his  being  actively 
engaged  in  squaring  serves  to  awaken 
a  bitter  prejudice  against  him  and  a 
keen  suspicion  of  his  motives  in  the 
minds  of  the  various  wives,  aunts, 
mothers-in-law,  and  other  feminine 
relatives  of  the  men  whom  he  has  be- 
friended. I  am  positive  that  if  any 
young  woman  were  to  receive  marked 
attentions  from  a  notorious  Squarer 
every  other  woman  would  warn  her 
against  marrying  a  man  of  such  ter- 
ribly dissipated  habits — the  one  who 
kept  your  Uncle  George  out  so  late 
that  dreadful  night  and  had  the  im- 


Zbc  Squarer.  87 

pudence  to  come  home  with  him  and 
stay  to  breakfast,  too." 

In  order  that  my  readers  may  gain 
some  idea  of  the  nature,  extent,  and 
variety  of  the  duties  which  the  Squarer 
performs  as  a  matter  of  love  and 
with  a  zeal  akin  to  that  with  which  a 
Rothschild  enters  upon  a  transaction 
in  three  per  cent,  bonds,  let  us  picture 
to  ourselves  a  scene  in  the  residential 
quarter  of  the  town  on  a  cold  Sunday 
morning  just  as  the  dawn  is  beginning 
to  streak  the  eastern  horizon  with 
streaks  of  pale  gray  light. 

The  figure  of  a  man  clad  in  paja- 
mas may  be  seen  peering  cautiously 
out  from  behind  thick  curtains  through 
the  partially  opened  window  of  the 
room  on  the  ground  floor.  Two  or 
three  snowballs,  hurled  by  a  strong 
arm,  are  flattened  against  the  panes  of 
glass,  and  the  gentleman  who  leans 
rather  unsteadily  on  the  fence  railing 
holds  another  in  his  hand  and  is  say- 


88  ^be  Squarcr. 

ing  plaintively  to  the  gentleman  in- 
side :  "  Yes,  it's  me,  old  man,  and  I 
want  you  to  go  home  with  me  and 
square  it  with  my  wife.  You've  gotter 
come  !  I  tell  you  I  dassent  show  up 
without  you." 

Whereupon  the  pajamaed  one — who 
is  none  other  than  the  Squarer  him- 
self— admits  his  unsteady  friend  to  his 
room,  puts  him  to  bed  on  the  horse- 
hair lounge,  and  then  sits  down  to 
scrape  the  mud  off  his  ulster  and  re- 
store that  much  abused  garment  to 
something  like  its  normal  appearance. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  Squarer's  client 
awakens,  refreshed  in  body  and  mind, 
and  clamors  hoarsely  for  a  cocktail, 
which  he  is  apt  to  get  if  he  insists 
upon  it  with  sufficient  obstinacy,  al- 
though the  Squarer  will  try  to  con- 
vince him  that  a  little  acid  phosphate 
in  a  glass  of  water  is  much  better  for 
his  health. 

At  ten  o'clock  they  will  start  for 


trbe  Squarer»  89 

the  home  of  the  client,  who  generally 
lives  at  some  distant  point,  like  Har- 
lem or  Brooklyn.  They  will  reach 
their  destination  a  short  time  before 
noon,  and  their  reception  is  sure  to  be 
chilly  and  discouraging.  It  is  pre- 
cisely at  this  moment  that  the  Squarer 
begins  to  get  in  his  really  fine  work 
in  behalf  of  his  unfortunate  friend. 

On  entering  the  house  he  places 
the  object  of  his  solicitude  in  a  verti- 
cal position  in  an  obscure  corner  of 
the  hall,  and  then  proceeds  to  shake 
hands  with  every  member  of  the  family 
in  turn,  evincing  at  the  same  time  the 
utmost  cordiality  and  utterly  ignoring 
the  cold  looks  of  suspicion  which  will 
be  directed  toward  him.  The  mother- 
in-law,  it  is  true,  will  press  forward 
eagerly  to  return  his  salutation,  but 
that  will  be  because  she  hopes  to  catch 
the  odor  of  a  cocktail  on  his  breath. 
Failing  in  this,  she  will  resume  her 
customary  attitude  of  frigid  reserve. 


90  ^be  Squarec. 

Sometimes  she  will  go  so  far  as  to 
send  the  children  upstairs,  when  the 
Squarer,  whose  heart  is  yearning  for 
a  little  human  tenderness  and  sympa- 
thy, gathers  them  about  his  knee  and 
tells  them  delightful  fairy  stories,  in 
which  difficult  art  he  is  absolutely 
without  a  master. 

He  excels  also  in  the  kindred  art 
of  giving  a  connected,  coherent  and 
plausible  account  of  the  remarkable 
chain  of  circumstances  which  brought 
his  friend  to  his  rooms,  and  finally  re- 
sulted in  their  joint  appearance  in 
the  Brooklyn  (or  Harlem)  home  at 
such  a  very  early  hour  in  the  day. 

It  is  while  the  Squarer  is  telling  his 
story  in  tones  of  great  earnestness 
and  sincerity  to  an  audience  of  the 
sort  described  in  the  dramatic  depart- 
ments of  newspapers  as  "  coldly  criti- 
cal," that  his  client  first  ventures  in- 
to the  parlor.  No  attention  whatever 
is  paid  to  him  when  he  oifers  to  sub- 


Zbc  Squarcr.  91 

Stantiate  every  detail  of  the  narrative, 
and  even  the  Squarer  looks  at  him  in 
a  way  that  means,  "  You'd  better  stay 
in  the  hall  where  I  put  you  until  you're 
sent  for.  I've  got  all  I  can  do  to 
make  them  swallow  this  story  we 
cooked  up  without  having  you  come 
in  and  queer  me  right  in  the  middle 
of  it." 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  the  client's 
word  carries  no  more  weight  with  the 
domestic  jury  convened  in  that  parlor 
than  that  of  a  convicted  murderer  at 
the  bar  of  justice. 

A  great  many  accomplishments  and 
rare  personal  qualities  enter  into  the 
composition  of  the  successful  Squarer, 
and  none  of  these  is  of  greater  import- 
ance than  his  ability  to  compel  the 
family  to  believe  at  least  half  of  the 
straightforward,  unvarnished,  and 
highly  interesting  account  of  his 
friend's  adventures,  which  he  tells  in 
such  a  pleasant  and  confidential  man- 


92  vibe  Sciuarec» 

ner.  Indeed,  it  may  be  truthfully 
said  that  that  story  is  the  very  key- 
stone of  the  arch  on  which  the  future 
peace  and  happiness  of  the  convivial 
client  must  rest.  At  the  close  of  his 
narration  signs  of  a  slight  thaw  are 
usually  visible  in  the  home  circle,  and 
the  Squarer  is  likely  to  be  asked  to 
stay  to  dinner. 

This  invitation  he  accepts  with  be- 
coming humility  and  gratitude,  some- 
times throwing  out  a  remark  about 
the  loneliness  of  a  bachelor's  life  and 
his  great  fondness  for  simple  home 
cooking.  It  is  absolutely  essential  to 
the  success  of  the  .Squarer's  under- 
taking that  he  should  remain  to  din- 
ner, if  for  nothing  more  than  to  do  the 
carving.  His  client  will,  it  is  true, 
make  one  or  two  ineffectual  efforts  in 
that  direction,  but  the  other  will  quick- 
ly take  the  knife  and  fork  out  of  his 
hands  with  a  "  Here,  old  man,  you'd 
better  let  me  attend  to  that,"  and  then 


(Bbc  Squarer.  93 

will  follow  an  exhibition  of  expert 
meat  slicing  which  will  go  a  long  way 
toward  restoring  the  client  to  his 
rightful  status  in  the  household. 

This  is  the  critical  point  of  the 
Squarer's  progress,  for  if  he  fails  here 
all  his  previous  good  work  will  be  un- 
done. He  must  carve  in  such  a  way  as 
to  give  every  one  an  apparent  abun- 
dance and  yet  leave  enough  of  the  fowl 
or  joint  to  make  glad  the  heart  of  the 
housewife  as  she  calculates  the  num- 
ber of  breakfasts  and  luncheons  that 
still  remain  on  the  dish.  Let  him  spill 
a  single  drop  of  gravy  on  the  table- 
cloth, and  his  unfortunate  client  will 
have  all  he  can  do  to  square  his 
friend. 

It  is  customary  in  well  regulated 
families  to  have  a  pair  of  ducks  for 
dinner  on  such  occasions  as  this,  and 
an  accomplished  Squarer  will  display 
a  degree  of  skill  which  can  be  likened 
only  to  that  of  a  surgeon  in  the  oper- 


94  ^be  Squarer. 

ating  theatre,  cutting  away  delicate 
slices  of  the  meat  and  leaving  the 
bone  as  clean  and  white  as  a  piece  of 
celluloid. 

Unless  the  disgraced  member  of 
the  household  contrives  to  make  some 
unfortunate  "  break  "  during  the  meal 
the  end  of  the  dinner  will  find  every- 
body in  a  much  happier  frame  of 
mind  than  before,  and  unless  the 
Squarer  happens  to  possess  musical 
accomplishments  of  some  sort  he  will 
take  a  speedy  departure.  His  client 
will  probably  weep  over  him  and  beg 
him  to  prolong  his  visit  till  the  next 
day,  but  he  will  finally  resist  his  im- 
portunities and  depart  after  having 
shaken  hands  all  round  with  much 
cordiality  and  lively  expressions  of 
gratitude  for  the  hospitality  which  has 
been  extended  to  him. 

If  squaring  should  ever  become  one 
of  the  learned  professions  and  cease 
to  be  the  labor  of  love  which  it  is 


^be  Squarer.  95 

now,  it  will  be  found  that  the  hired 
Squarer  will  never  acquire  one-half 
the  skill  or  perform  his  duties  with 
nearly  as  much  success  as  the  dis- 
tinguished amateur  whom  I  have  in 
my  mind's  eye  as  I  write. 


THE  JOKE  THAT  FAILED 


New  York  possesses  a  practical 
joker  in  the  person  of  a  gentleman 
who  is  widely  known  to  the  class  that 
brighten  upper  Broadway  as  "  Gus  " 
and  often  as  "  Gussie."  For  nearly  a 
score  of  years  this  merry  sprite  has 
floated  like  a  cork  on  the  waves  of 
life  that  sweep  through  the  Tender- 
loin District,  and  many  are  the  tales 
that  are  told  of  his  exploits  in  the  al- 
most forgotten  art  of  practical  joking. 
Now,  it  must  be  said  in  justice  to  him 
that  Gus  despises  that  form  of  humor 
which  consists  of  pulling  a  chair  from 
under  some  person  who  contemplates 
sitting  down  on  it.  To  be  sure,  his 
jokes  often  result  more  disastrously 
7  97 


98        ^be  5ofte  tbat  3faile&. 

to  the  victim,  but  there's  always  a 
certain  original  turn  to  them  which 
commends  them  to  the  attention  of  the 
philosophic  student  of  contemporan- 
eous life  and  manners. 

Now,  if  there  is  one  thing  in  which 
this  gifted  creature  is  absolutely  with- 
out a  peer,  it  is  in  the  art  of  making 
a  profound  impression  on  newl3^-ar- 
rived  foreigners,  and  particularly  on 
Germans,  who  are  invariably  suspi- 
cious of  people  who  tell  them  the 
truth,  and  repose  a  sublime  confi- 
dence in  the  statements  of  all  irre- 
sponsible, untrustworthy  and  humor- 
ous characters. 

Some  time  ago,  a  German,  a  type 
of  the  class  who  call  themselves 
Frenchmen,  arrived  in  New  York, 
and  of  course  speedily  made  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Gus,  the  practical  joker 
of  upper  Broadway.  The  two  became 
very  intimate,  and  the  "  Baron,"  as 
the  new  arrival  called  himself  and  was 


Zbc  5ofte  tbat  jfaileD.        99 

called  by  his  acquaintances,  soon  de- 
veloped a  profound  and  abiding  faith 
in  the  sagacity,  veracity,  and  high 
social  standing  of  the  brilliant  wit 
and  famous  man-about-town  whose 
acquaintance  he  had  been  fortunate 
enough  to  form.  It  was  Gus  who 
ushered  him  into  the  theatres  by  the 
simple  expedient  of  nodding  blandly 
to  the  doorkeeper.  It  was  Gus  who 
took  him  to  walk  on  Fifth  Avenue, 
and  pointed  out  to  him  the  most 
famous  statesmen,  millionaires,  poets 
and  warriors,  who  all  seemed  to  turn 
out  on  the  days  when  Gus  took  his 
afternoon  stroll,  and  who  (the  celebri- 
ties) invariably  returned  his  salute 
in  the  most  cordial  and  friendly  man- 
ner. 

One  day  while  sitting  with  Gus  and 
three  or  four  congenial  friends  in  a 
hostelry  kept  by  one  Engel,  the  Baron 
expressed  a  longing  to  attend  some 
festivity    in    New    York    society,   in 


loo     XLbc  5ofte  tbat  jfalleD. 

order  that  he  might  compare  our  deau 
■mo7ide  with  those  exalted  circles  of 
the  Faubourg  St.  Germain  to  which 
he  had  been  accustomed  since  his 
earliest  years. 

"  If  I  only  knew  one  of  these  big 
American  swells,"  remarked  the 
Baron,  "  I  would  ask  him  to  intro- 
duce me  to  all  the  others,  and  then, 
of  course,  if  he  came  to  Paris,  I'd  do 
the  same  for  him  ;  but  I've  neglected 
to  bring  any  letters  of  introduction, 
and  so  I  don't  see  any  chance  of  go- 
ing to  any  of  their  parties.  There's  a 
big  blowout  at  the  Astorbilts'  to- 
night, and  I  tell  you  I'd  like  mighty 
well  to  see  what  it's  like." 

"  Why  don't  you  get  Gus  to  fix 
you .''  "  said  one  of  the  company  ;  ''he 
knows  all  those  nobs." 

"Why,  certainly,"  cried  the  oblig- 
ing Gus.  "  Why  in  the  world  didn't 
you  ask  me  before,  dear  boy  t  I  very 
seldom  go  into  societ}'  myself,  but  I'd 


XLbc  Jofte  tbat  jfaileD.       iot 

be  delighted  to  introduce  you  to  some 
of  my  bong-tong  friends.  Here, 
waiter,  bring  me  a  sheet  of  notepaper 
and  an  envelope — a  white  one,  not  a 
yellow  one." 

An  hour  later,  the  confiding  Ger- 
man was  on  his  way  to  the  scene 
of  festivities,  holding  tightly  clutched 
in  his  hand  the  following  note  of  in- 
troduction : 

*'  Friend  Astorbilt,  this  will  make 
you  acquainted  with  my  friend,  Baron 
Blank,  the  society  reporter  of  the 
Organ-grinder' s  Gazette.  I  trust  that 
you  will  extend  to  him  the  usual 
courtesies,  and  thereby  confer  a  per- 
sonal favor  on  your  old  friend 
Gussie." 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  Gus 
and  his  merry  men  assembled,  ac- 
cording to  previous  agreement,  at  Mr. 
Engel's  place  of  refreshment  to  greet 


I02      ^be  5oTic  tbat  3fallc&. 

the  Baron,  and  learn  from  his  own 
lips  the  story  of  his  adventures  in 
New  York  society. 

"  I  don't  think  he'll  be  here  at  all," 
remarked  one  of  the  company  ;  "  he 
probably  got  fired  down  the  steps  so 
hard  that  he's  lying  in  the  hospital. 
I  must  say,  Gus,  you've  got  the  nerve 
of  an  ox  to  send  him  up  there  with 
that  letter  of  introduction." 

"That's  all  right,"  rejoined  the 
practical  joker,  merrily.  "  If  he  has 
the  nerve  to  make  a  good  front 
he'll  get  in,  and  he'll  be  back  here 
before  midnight." 

The  words  were  scarcely  out  of  his 
mouth  when  the  Baron  entered,  at- 
tired in  his  Bavarian  dress-suit,  with 
a  large  butterfly  cravat  flapping  about 
his  collar  button,  and  bore  down 
upon  the  party,  his  face  aglow  with 
exultation. 

"  Everybody  have  something  with 
me,"  he  cried,   as  he  seized  Gus  by 


XLbc  ^o\{c  tbat  J'ailcD.       103 

the  hand.  "  I'm  ever  so  much  obliged 
to  you,  old  man,  for  that  letter,  and  I 
tell  you  those  Astorbilts  are  elegant 
people,  and  know  how  to  treat  a 
gentleman  when  they  see  him.  I 
never  was  treated  so  well  anywhere 
in  all  my  life." 

"  Well,  tell  us  all  about  it,"  said 
the  joker,  who  could  scarcely  conceal 
his  surprise  at  the  unexpected  turn 
which  his  joke  had  taken. 

"  I  went  up  there  and  a  man 
opened  the  door,  a  nice-looking,  well- 
dressed  man,  probably  one  of  the 
family.  I  gave  him  your  letter  and 
told  him  I  was  a  reporter,  and  he 
didn't  even  read  the  letter,  but  told 
me  to  go  to  another  door  downstairs 
under  the  front  steps.  When  I  went 
in  there  another  gentleman  came 
along,  probably  the  other  man's 
brother.  He  asked  me  if  I  was  a 
reporter,  and  when  I  told  him  yes,  he 
gave  me  a  long  list  of  names,  and 


I04       ^be  5ofte  tbat  jpallcD* 

invited  me  to  sit  down  and  have  some 
supper.  Down  I  sat  at  a  nice  table 
in  the  kitchen,  and  had  a  beautiful 
supper,  wdth  a  whole  bottle  of  wine 
to  myself.  That  wasn't  all.  When 
I  w^as  ready  to  go  away,  Mr.  Astorbilt 
came  along  and  asked  me  if  I  had  had 
a  good  time  and  plenty  to  eat,  and  I 
said  I  had.  Then  he  handed  me  a 
lobster  patty — here  it  is  ;  a  chicken 
patty — here  it  is,  and  a  bottle  of  cham- 
pagne as  well."  He  fished  up  these 
delicacies  from  the  recesses  of  his 
ulster  as  he  spoke,  and  laid  them  on 
the  table  before  his  amazed  friends. 

"  I  tell  you  gentlemen,"  he  said  in 
conclusion,  "  if  there  are  any  people 
in  this  town  who  know  a  gentleman 
when  they  see  him  and  treat  him  as 
such,  it's  that  same  Astorbilt  family, 
and  I'm  much  obliged  to  Gus  for 
making:  me  solid  there." 


DAN   BRIORDY'S   GITAWAY 
SHADDER. 


From  late  May  until  early  October 
Dan  Briordy  may  be  found  at  the 
"  Crystal  Gem,"  a  sort  of  dancing 
pavilion  and  variety  show  combined, 
which  he  has  conducted  for  several 
seasons  past  in  the  very  heart  of  the 
most     popular     quarter     of     Coney 

Island. 

The  equinoctial  storms  which  prac- 
tically give  the  deathblow  to  the  sum- 
mer merriment  at  this  most  famous 
of  all  American  watering  places 
usually  leave  Mr.  Briordy  in  a  con- 
dition of  mental  and  financial  depres- 
sion similar  to  that  of  a  butterfly  who 

105 


io6  38rfor&i2'0  ©Itawag  Sba&Der» 

is  reminded  by  the  first  chill  breezes 
of  early  fall  that  sunshine  and  honey 
and  the  sweet  flowers  of  the  field  are 
not  to  be  had  the  whole  twelve 
months  through,  and  that  there  are 
many  weeks  of  ice  and  snow  and  cold 
to  be  bridged  over  before  spring  will 
come  again. 

Now,  Dan  Briordy  is  essentially  a 
creature  of  summer.  The  first  breath 
of  April  warmth  sends  the  blood 
coursing  through  his  veins  and  causes 
his  heart  to  expand  and  his  face  to 
assume  that  look  of  joviality  and 
good  cheer  which,  although  he  prob- 
ably does  not  realize  it  himself,  is  a 
powerful  factor  in  attracting  strangers 
to  his  "  Crystal  Gem."  That  smile 
remains  with  him  until  the  wailing  of 
the  equinoctial  gales  drives  the  few 
remaining  customers  away  from  his 
bar,  and  gives  him  time  to  think 
about  the  long,  cold  winter  that  lies 
before  him,  and  for  which  period  of 


X>xioxt>^'e  (3itawai2  SbaOOcr.  107 

uncertainty  he  has,  Uke  his  prototype, 
the  butterfly,  made  no  provision. 

It  was  at  one  of  these  moments 
that  I  chanced  to  encounter  him  on 
a  bright  morning  immediately  after  a 
three  days'  September  storm  of  wind 
and  rain.  He  was  sitting  entirely 
alone  at  a  small  table  in  front  of  his 
bar.  The  "  Crystal  Gem  "  is  open  to 
three  of  the  four  winds  of  heaven, 
and  its  proprietor  was  really  a  pictur- 
esque figure  in  his  red  flannel  shirt, 
with  sleeves  rolled  up  to  the  elbows, 
and  with  his  rough  slouch  hat  pushed 
back  from  his  freckled,  good-natured 
and  essentially  humorous  face. 

If  he  had  been  a  poseur  he  could 
not  have  selected  a  better  background 
against  which  to  display  himself  than 
the  broad  expanse  of  snow-white  sand 
which  melted  a  few  hundred  feet 
away  into  a  sea  of  deep  blue,  orna- 
mented with  white  caps  of  snowy 
foam.      A   long    clothes    line,    from 


io8  JBrior^s's  Gitawa^  Sba^Der. 

which  hung  bathing  suits  of  different 
shapes,  colors  and  degrees  of  ragged- 
ness,  heightened  rather  than  marred 
the  effect  of  the  sea  and  sand. 

"  Come  over  here  and  lend  me 
some  of  them  brains  you've  got," 
was  my  friend's  salutation,  and  as  I 
dropped  into  a  chair  beside  him  he 
continued  :  "  I'm  going  to  get  up  a 
little  racket  for  next  week,  an'  I'd  like 
you  to  fix  up  a  card  of  invite  that  I 
can  send  round  to  me  friends."' 

"  What  sort  of  a  racket  are  you  ar- 
ranging for  ?  "  I  inquired. 

"  Well,  I  think  it'll  be  a  shadder 
ball.  All  I  want  is  to  see  what  some 
of  these  fronts  are  good  for  and  to  try 
and  make  a  little  gitaway  stake  to  use 
as  a  starter  at  the  Waverly  Fair." 

Further  conversation  with  Mr. 
Briordy  elicited  the  intelligence  that 
the  "  gitaway  stake  "  is  simply  a  sum 
of  money  made  at  the  close  of  the 
season   in  one   coup   and   used   as  a 


J3r(ocO\>'0  6itawas  SbaODer.  109 

means  of  getting  away  from  the  island 
to  winter  quarters  in  New  York  or 
elsewhere.  I  also  learned  that  a 
*'  shadder  ball  "  is  an  entertainment 
which  begins  at  nine  in  the  evening 
with  a  variety  show,  for  which  the 
"  talent  "  of  the  different  nearby  places 
of  amusement  usually  volunteer,  and 
which  ends  in  a  grand  ball,  a  feature 
of  which  is  the  use  of  colored  lights, 
which  are  thrown  on  the  dancers 
with  weird  and  exciting  results. 

It  is  customary  to  sell  tickets  for 
an  event  of  this  sort,  despite  the  fact 
that  the  admittance  is  free  and  that 
the  beneficiary  expects  to  make  all 
his  money  from  the  sale  of  refresh- 
ments, and  it  was  in  order  that  I 
might  prepare  a  suitable  legend  for 
those  tickets  that  Mr.  Briordy  invited 
me  to  take  a  seat  opposite  him  at  the 
table  and  give  him  the  benefit  of  my 
talent  and  experience.  With  our  two 
heads  put  together  it  is  not  surprising 


no  JBriorD^'s  (3itawai2  Sba&&er» 

that  an  hour  later  an  invitation  of 
my  own  composition  was  considered 
not  only  appropriate,  but  elegant  and 
refined,  and  the  tickets  were  conse- 
quently ordered  of  the  printer. 

The  evening  selected  for  the  enter- 
tainment found  Dan  standing  near 
the  end  of  his  own  bar,  where  he 
could  have  an  eye  on  the  cashier, 
take  frequent  drinks  with  his  friends, 
and  maintain  a  general  supervision 
over  the  festivities.  I  found  him  so 
engaged  when  I  reached  the  "  Crys- 
tal Gem "  at  the  fashionably  late 
hour  of  half-past  eleven. 

*'I  thought  you'd  given  me  the  cold 
shake  !  "  he  exclaimed  as  his  eye  fell 
upon  me.  (I  will  remark  here  that 
Dan  is  not  a  "  dis  and  dat  "  ruffian.) 
I've  been  holding  back  the  grand 
march  in  the  hope  you'd  show  up, 
and  Taggert's  near  wild  for  fear  there 
won't  be  nobody  down  here  when  he 
starts   it.     He's    dead  stuck  on  him 


:©rforO^'6  (Bitawa^  SbaODer.  m 

self  as  a  dancing-master,  and  he's  a 
strong  card  at  this  place  when  you  get 
him  to  lead." 

While  he  was  speaking  a  gentleman 
whom  I  recognized  as  Mr.  George 
Taggert,  the  leader  of  the  smart  danc- 
ing set  of  West  Brighton,  came  up  to 
us  and  remarked  "  that  they'd  better 
begin  the  march  if  they  expected  to 
have  anybody  in  it."  Now  Mr.  Tag- 
gert is  not  only  a  society  man,  but 
he  is  a  prominent  merchant  as  well, 
and  has  long  been  recognized  as  a 
skillful  dealer  in  and  manipulator  of 
ice.  Indeed  it  is  because  his  morn- 
ings are  spent  in  dalliance  with  the 
tongs  and  pick  and  his  nights  as  the 
director  of  these  difficult  and  graceful 
manoeuvres  which  have  long  been  a 
feature  of  the  most  exclusive  seaside 
circles,  that  he  has  become  the  extra- 
ordinary combination  of  herculean 
strength  and  fawn-like  grace  that  he 
is  to-day. 


112  JBrior^^'s  (5itavvai2  SbaOJ)er» 

"  Let  'er  go,  then,  George,"  re- 
marked Dan  carelessly,  and  the 
master  of  ceremonies  stood  up  on  a 
chair  and  announced  that  there  would 
be  a  grand  march,  followed  by  a 
prize  waltz  for  a  massive  gold  sofa, 
and  that,  prior  to  the  beginning  of 
the  ball,  he  wished  them  to  under- 
stand that  he  stood  ready  to  enforce 
with  main  strength  if  necessary  the 
rigid  code  of  etiquette  which  ought 
to  prevail  at  high-toned  affairs  of  that 
class.  He  closed  his  speech  with  the 
significant  remark  that  a  "  sovereign- 
eer  would  be  give  out  "  to  every  lady 
who  took  part  in  the  grand  march 
and  conducted  herself  as  a  lady 
should  until  the  close  of  the  ball. 

Then  the  dancers  formed  in  a  long 
double  line  on  the  floor  of  the  pavil- 
ion, and  those  wha  were  present 
merely  as  spectators  ranged  them- 
selves about  in  various  convenient 
places,  and  took  particular  care  not 


JBriort)^'5  6it3was  Sba^der.  113 

to  interfere  in  any  way  with  Mr.  Tag- 
gert  or  his  corps  of  dancers.  The 
line  having  been  formed  in  accord- 
ance with  the  great  leader's  ideas  of 
social  precedence,  the  "  professor  " 
struck  a  sharp  chord  on  a  piano 
which  had  become  entirely  accli- 
mated to  the  sea  air,  and  an  asth- 
matic orchestra  of  three  pieces  burst 
into  enlivening  melody. 

"  Gents  ter  de  right !  Ladies  ter 
de  left !  I'll  break  yer  eye,  Paddy 
Gilligan,  if  yer  git  too  fresh !  "  were 
the  words  of  command,  uttered  in 
strident  tones  by  Mr.  Taggert,  and 
the  memorable  march  began.  The 
first  couple  consisted  of  a  gentleman 
who  has  long  enjoyed  great  social 
prestige  in  West  Brighton,  because 
he  was  once  John  Y.  McKane's  coach- 
man, and  a  lady  named  Miss  Lottie 
Reeves,  who  occupies  the  same  posi- 
tion there  that  Mme.  Emma  Eames 
does  in  New  York,  being  prominent 
8 


114  ^riorO^'s  01tawai5  SbaDDer. 

as  a  professional  singer  and  enjoying 
much  popularity  in  society  as  well. 

After  these  came  a  lady  who  is 
known  professionally  to  the  summer 
visitors  as  the  "  Wild  Woman  of 
Coney  Island,"  but  who  retires  at 
the  close  of  the  dime  museum  season 
to  the  peaceful  obscurity  of  the  kitchen 
in  Pete  Vulney's  hotel.  The  wild 
lady,  who  is  also  a  great  social  favor- 
ite, was  escorted  by  an  undersized 
jockey  from  the  Brighton  track,  who 
was  known  to  have  had  at  least  a 
dozen  winning  mounts  during  the 
previous  fortnight,  and  was  therefore 
treated  with  the  same  degree  of 
deference  which  it  is  customary  on 
this  planet  to  show  to  those  who  are 
playing  in  luck. 

A  great  many  of  the  guests  de- 
clared that  the  wild  woman  was  fairly 
entitled  to  the  place  of  honor  in  the 
procession,  because  she  had  attained 
greater  fame  than  Miss  Reeves,  and 


J3rlorOs's  ©Itawa^  SbaOOer.  115 

had  been  made  the  subject  of  one  of 
the  highest  examples  of  pictorial  art 
ever  seen  on  the  island.  In  this 
canvas,  which  is  from  the  brush  of  a 
native  Gravesend  artist,  she  is  repre- 
sented as  standing  in  the  depths  of  a 
jungle  near  Norton's  Point,  clad  in  a 
single  tastefully  designed  garment  of 
skin,  and  bidding  defiance  to  a  score 
of  men,  who  look  like  Gravesend 
election  inspectors,  and  are  evidently 
desirous  of  effecting  her  capture. 

It  is  probable  that  some  other 
artist  will  some  day  portray  this 
accomplished  lady  in  her  capacity 
of  a  skilled  cook,  tossing  flapjacks 
high  in  air,  or  else  as  .a  queen  of 
Coney  Island  fashion,  leading  the 
revels  on  the  arm  of  a  prosperous 
jockey. 

In  my  mind's  eye  I  can  still  see 
the  gay  procession  as  it  sweeps  past 
me,  and  can  recognize  all  the  familiar 
forms  and  faces.     There  is  Miss  Vir- 


ii6  :©r(orD^'5  (Bitawa^  SbaDDer. 

ginia  Woodruff,  light  of  foot  and 
merry  of  face.  'J'o  see  her  tripping 
gayly  along  in  the  conventional  dress 
of  the  period,  which  one  of  us  would 
dream  of  the  wealth  of  exquisite  tat- 
tooing that  covers  her  person  from 
head  to  foot  and  makes  her  one  of 
the  loveliest  human  curiosities  ever 
exhibited  to  a  wondering  throng  of 
sightseers  ? 

Jake  Vanderlip  walks  besides  her, 
as  proud  of  his  fair  partner  as  he 
is  of  his  ancient  Gravesend  lineage. 
He  is  telling  her  of  the  profit  he  has 
made  from  his  cane  board  this  sum- 
mer, and  rumor  declares  that  when 
another  season  dawns  upon  the  beach 
the  beautiful  red,  blue,  and  yellow 
pictures  of  the  Brooklyn  Bridge,  the 
Twelve  Apostles,  and  the  American 
eagle  will  have  been  withdrawn  from 
popular  gaze,  and  that  the  proud 
wearer  of  these  precious  insignia  of 
art  will  sit,  chastely  robed,  beside  the 


JSriorD^'s  Oftawai?  SbaDDer.  1 17 

ancestral  Vanderlip  cane  board,  to  be 
known  no  longer  as  the  "  Tattooed 
Queen  of  the  South  Seas,"  but  as 
Mrs.  Vanderlip,  the  leader  of  the 
haiit  tofi  of  West  Brighton. 

And  after  her  come  the  merchant 
princes  of  Coney  Island,  men  who 
know  how  few  clams  should  be  in- 
terred in  a  chowder  and  how  long  an 
ear  of  corn  should  be  boiled  before  it 
becomes  a  possibility  to  browse  upon 
it.  There  are  men  here,  too,  who 
have  been  renting  bathing  suits — to 
gents  as  well  as  to  ladies — for  so 
many  summers  that  there  is  no  detail 
in  that  important  branch  of  commerce 
that  they  have  not  at  their  fingers' 
ends.  And  last  of  all,  marching  all 
alone,  about  five  feet  in  the  rear  of 
the  procession,  scorned  by  the  ladies 
and  shunned  by  the  men,  comes  one 
of  the  happiest  inebriates  that  it  has 
ever  been  my  lot  to  behold  and  envy. 

"  That  feller,"  remarked  Dan  apolo- 


ii8  J5rior&i2'6  ©Itawaig  SbaDDer. 

getically,  "  was  a  bartender  at  the  Sea 
Beach  Hotel  till  this  morning,  but  he 
got  bounced  for  gettin'  full.  I'd  fire 
him  for  being  drunk  only  he's  got 
twenty-nine  dollars  wages  in  his 
pocket  and  he's  blowin'  it  all  in  in 
great  style." 

Just  at  this  moment  the  ex-bar- 
tender passed  us  with  a  merry  whoop, 
paused  a  moment  to  execute  a  few 
fancy  steps  for  our  special  delecta- 
tion, and  then  swept  on  at  the  rear 
of  the  procession. 

"Yes,"  admitted  Mr.  Briordy, 
"  there's  a  lot  of  people  here  to- 
night, but  the  spenders  ain't  come 
yet.  And  to  tell  the  truth,  there's 
not  much  money  spent  over  the  bar 
while  the  grand  march  goes  on." 

At  this  moment  Mr.  Taggert  came 
over  to  us  and  exclaimed  indignantly, 
"  Dat  bum  has  got  ter  be  fired  or  der 
dance  don't  go  on.  I've  pasted  him 
once  or  twict  already,  but  it  don't  do 


3j8norDi2'6  Gitawais  SbaODer.  119 

him  no  good,  and  unless  he  gets  off 
de  floor  der'll  be  trouble." 

Mr.  Briordy  went  at  once  to  the 
intoxicated  bartender,  who,  during  a 
brief  pause  in  the  music,  was  prac- 
tising a  few  picturesque  and  intricate 
steps  all  by  himself  in  the  centre  of 
the  room,  holding  up  his  coat-tails 
with  his  hands  as  he  did  so,  and 
watching  intently  the  movements  of 
his  feet.  A  moment  later  Dan  re- 
joined us  and  said  to  the  floor  man- 
ager, "  Leave  him  be  a  little  longer. 
He's  got  $15  left  out  of  his  pile,  and 
he  might  just  as  well  spend  it  here  as 
be  robbed  of  it  somewhere  else." 

With  this  understanding,  and  with 
a  sharp  warning  to  the  too  demonstra- 
tive guest,  the  revels  were  resumed  in 
such  a  graceful  and  fascinating  man- 
ner that  all  the  bibulous  guests  de- 
serted the  bar  and  drinking  tables  in 
spite  of  the  efforts  of  the  waiters  to 
restrain   them,    and   gathered   in    an 


I20  3Brlor&i5's  Oitawais  SbaD^er. 

awestruck  circle  to  gaze  upon  the 
great  Taggert  and  his  marching  co- 
horts. 

"  I'll  have  to  put  a  stop  to  this  busi- 
ness," said  Mr.  Briordy  disconsolately. 
*'  The  trouble  with  that  fellow  Taggert 
is  that  he  leads  too  well,  and  when 
he's  leading  the  march  they  don't 
spend  no  money  over  the  bar. 
They'd  all  rather  watch  him  than 
buy  drinks.  Hullo,  there  comes  a 
couple  of  wine  openers  now,"  and  he 
hurried  off  to  greet  the  new  arrivals. 

At  this  moment  the  bartender,  who 
had  been  engaged  in  scattering  his 
accrued  wealth,  proved  so  refractory 
that  the  director  of  the  march  seized 
him  by  the  throat  and  sent  him  spin- 
ning across  the  floor,  over  a  table  and 
against  a  whitewashed  wall,  where  he 
remained  poised  for  a  full  moment, 
and  then  fell  to  the  floor.  In  a  few 
moments  he  was  himself  again,  but 
before  he  could  return  to  the  dance 


3BrforDi2's  (Sltawag  SbaDDer.  121 

Mr.  Taggert  had,  in  obedience  to 
orders,  but  with  great  reluctance, 
brought  the  grand  march  to  a  close, 
and  the  festivities  were  suspended  for 
a  few  moments  to  permit  the  guests  to 
spend  a  little  money  at  the  bar. 

The  newcomers  now  set  a  good 
example  to  the  others  by  ordering 
champagne  in  the  most  liberal  man- 
ner, and  Dan  Briordy's  face  fairly 
beamed  as  he  hustled  actively  about 
with  a  word  here,  a  handshake  there, 
and  a  drink  somewhere  else,  encour- 
aging the  hilarity,  or,  as  he  himself 
expressed  it,  "giving  the  gang  the 
grand  jolly." 

When  the  shadow  dance  began  I 
happened  to  be  partaking  of  an  ear 
of  hot  corn  in  company  with  the  ele- 
gant Miss  Lottie  Reeves,  and  we  re- 
entered the  pavilion,  cob  in  hand,  to 
find  the  company  gayly  waltzing  in 
the  glare  of  everchanging  colored 
lights. 


122  :©rlorDB'g  (3itawas  SbaDOer. 

Ah,  that  moonlight  night,  with 
the  fresh  breeze  in  our  faces  and  the 
sullen  roar  of  the  sea  in  our  ears ! 
That  bar-room,  with  its  flood  of  gaudy 
calcium  lights  and  scores  of  fleet- 
footed,  joyous  inebriates  !  That  beer 
that  lurked  coyly  beneath  the  froth 
at  the  very  bottom  of  the  glass ! 
That  hot  corn,  with  its  delicious  sea- 
soning of  rancid  butter  !  These  are 
a  few  of  the  memories  that  come  to 
me  when  I  recall  Dan  Briordy  and 
his  "  Gitaway  Shadder." 

So  the  moments  sped  by  until  nearly 
two  o'clock,  when  we  were  warned  by 
the  sound  of  approaching  footsteps, 
accompanied  by  strains  of  martial 
music  and  the  shouts  of  an  enrapt- 
ured populace,  that  there  were  other 
diversions  on  the  island  that  night 
besides  ours. 

Dan  started  up  anxiously  and 
stepped  out  on  the  board  walk  to  see 
if  it  could  be  possible  that  some  rival 


JBrfocDg's  ©ttawa^  Sbat)Der.  125 

manager  had  started  another  "  shad- 
der  "  in  opposition  to  his.  No  ;  the 
approaching  revellers  were  from  the 
"  Glass  Pavilion,"  and  they  were 
marching  with  their  manager  at  their 
head  to  pay  a  friendly  visit  to  the 
proprietor  of  the  *'  Crystal  Gem." 
Into  the  pavilion  they  marched,  a 
double  column  of  fully  two  score,  and 
twice  did  they  circle  about  the  floor 
to  the  strains  of  their  own  band,  and 
amid  the  welcoming  plaudits  of  every 
one  assembled.  Then  they  seated 
themselves  at  the  long  table  and 
called  for  Milwaukee  beer,  which 
costs  twenty  cents  a  bottle,  and  is 
looked  upon  at  Coney  Island  as  the 
beverage  of  opulence  and  effete 
luxury. 

This  accession  to  the  number  of 
Mr.  Briordy's  guests  gave  a  fresh  im- 
petus to  the  hilarity,  and  from  that 
moment  on  the  fun  was  fast  and 
furious,  until  the  wandering  bartender, 


124  3Qxioxt>^'6  ©itawag  SbaDDcr. 

having  spent  the  last  of  his  $29,  and 
endeavored  to  procure  a  final  round 
of  beer  on  credit,  was  seized  by  the 
indignant  Mr.  Taggert,  who  had  been 
biding  his  time  for  several  hours,  and 
cast  into  outer  darkness.  Soon  after 
this  daylight  began  to  appear  in  the 
east,  and  I  took  my  departure,  thank- 
ful to  learn  at  the  final  moment  that 
"Dan"  Briordy's  "Gitaway  Shad- 
der"  had  proved  an  overwhelming 
financial  success,  and  that  the  "  sov- 
ereigneers  "  would  be  distributed  an 
hour  later. 


THEWARDMAN'S   WOOING. 


"  No,  William,''  said  Mary  Double- 
fare,  gently,  yet  with  a  note  of  unmis- 
takable firmness  in  her  voice,  "  it  is 
useless  for  you  to  urge  me.  While 
you  were  in  this  precinct  I  learned  to 
respect  you  for  your  many  good  quali- 
ties, and  I  shall  always  hold  you  in 
high  esteem,  but  I  do  not  love  you, 
and  although  I  believe  that  you  have 
a  golden  future  before  you — a  future 
which  any  young  girl  ought  to  be 
proud  to  share — I  cannot  marry 
you.  Where  my  hand  goes  my  heart 
must  go  too." 

"One  word  more,"  said  William 
Cinch,  the  dashing  and  accomplished 
wardman  of  the  merriest  precinct  in 

125 


126  ^be  MarDman'5  Woolna» 

the  town,  "  before  the  curtain  is  rung 
down  forever  on  the  little  drama,  or 
comedy,  in  which  we  have  been  the 
principal  actors.  Tell  me,  I  implore 
you,  has  any  other  man  come  between 
us  ?  I  have  heard  it  said  more  than 
once  that  Walter  Dealbrace  was  your 
devoted  admirer,  and  besides," — and 
here  his  voice  grew  hard  and  cold — 
"  it's  only  last  week  that  I  seen  you 
talking  in  a  doorway  with  Rupert 
Flimflam." 

The  young  girl's  lip  curled  con- 
temptuously as  she  made  answer : 
"  Mr.  Dealbrace  will  have  to  do  some- 
thing to  change  his  luck  before  he 
presumes  to  say  anything  about  love 
to  me.  It  is  not  likely  that  we  will 
meet  again  for  some  time." 

"  What !  Have  you  parted  for- 
ever ?  "  cried  the  detective,  eagerly. 

"We  have,"  rejoined  the  maiden, 
icily,  "  unless  he  happens  to  bring 
back  those  four  bones  I  let  him  have 


Zbc  THIlarDman's  Mooing.    127 

a  month  ago.  As  for  Rupert  Flim- 
flam/' she  continued,  carelessly,  but 
with  no  trace  of  contempt  or  bitter- 
ness in  her  voice,  "  my  feelings  to- 
ward him  are  only  those  which  any 
lady  might  entertain  toward  a  gentle- 
man whom  she  had  met  but  three 
times  in  her  life,  once  at  the  Gold 
Brick  Coterie's  moonlight,  and  twice, 
casually,  in  doorways. 

"  I  will  be  frank  with  you,  William, 
however,  and  say  that  I  have  been 
strongly  attracted  by  Mr.  Flimflam, 
not  so  much  on  account  of  the  way  in 
which  he  has  been  putting  out  those 
new  fives,  but  because  of  his  high 
sense  of  honor  and  engaging  person- 
ality as  well." 

"  But  it  is  scarcely  probable,"  she 
continued,  "  that  Mr.  Flimflam,  with 
his  golden  prospects,  will  deem  it 
worth  his  while  to  pay  court  to  the 
daughter  of  poor  old  Jack  Doublefare, 
for,  as  you  well   know,  cab-driving  in 


128  Zbe  MarOman's  IKHoofng. 

the  old  Tenderloin  is  by  no  means 
what  it  was  before  these  reformers,  as 
they  are  called,  ruined  the  precinct 
and  reduced  so  many  of  us  to  beg- 
gary." 

"  Ah,  Mary  !  "  exclaimed  the  young 
wardman,  sympathetically,  "  it  breaks 
my  heart  to  think  of  you  and  your 
father,  now  that  the  Tenderloin  is 
dried  up,  and  there's  no  elephant  for 
the  jays  to  see.  This  winter  is  going 
to  be  an  easy  one  for  the  jays,  though 
they  won't  appreciate  their  blessings, 
but  a  very  cold  one  for  the  smart  peo- 
ple, and  between  you  and  me,  this 
very  Tenderloin,  where  you've  been 
born  and  brought  up,  ain't  going 
to  be  much  warmer  than  the  North 
Pole  !  Think  of  all  this,  Mary,  ere 
you  refuse  the  home  which  I  offer  to 
you  both." 

At  this  allusion  to  her  father,  once 
the  wealthiest  night-hawk  in  the  pre- 
cinct, but  now  a  gray-haired,  poverty- 


tCbc  mardman's  "CGlooinfl.    129 

stricken  man,  every  trace  of  coldness 
and  haughty  pride  disappeared  from 
Mary  Doublefare's  face,  and  a  big 
tear  coursed  down  her  cheek  as  she 
exclaimed  in  broken  accents  : 

"William — Mr.  Cinch — do  not,  I 
implore  you,  speak  of  that.  My  poor, 
dear  father," — and  burying  her  head 
in  her  hands  she  wept  bitterly. 

"  Alas  !  "  she  said,  presently,  "  the 
future  is  indeed  dark  before  us,  and  I 
can  scarcely  restrain  my  grief  when  I 
contrast  our  bitter  poverty  of  to-day 
with  the  affluence  which  we  enjoyed 
but  a  few  short  years  ago,  when  good, 
kind  Captain  Fatwad  ruled  in  the 
precinct,  and  free  trade  and  protec- 
tion went  hand  in  hand. 

"There  was  scarcely  a  morning 
then  when  dear  papa  did  not  come 
home  after  his  night's  work  with  dia- 
mond pins  and  watches  and  rolls  of 
bills  that  he  had  found  on  his  fares, 
and  we  were — oh,  so  happy.  The 
9 


130  Zbc  llClarDman's  Mooing. 

streets  were  full  of  guys  then,  and  by 
nightfall  there  was  hardly  a  sober  one 
to  be  found  among  them  all.  I  know 
but  little  of  political  economy  or  so- 
ciology, William.  I  have  not  read 
much  of  John  Stuart  Mill  or  Herbert 
Spencer,  but  surely  heaven  never 
sent  a  more  precious  gift  to  one  of 
its  well  beloved  precincts  than  a 
plentiful  crop  of  drunks.  Why,  they 
are  the  very  life  of  trade  of  every  sort. 
It  is  the  drunks  who  keep  on  buying 
more  drinks,  who  play  the  wheel  on 
a  system,  who  keep  on  opening  the 
same  bottle  of  wine  until  the  waiter 
brings  in  a  check  for  $65,  who  hire 
cabs  by  the  hour  and  go  to  sleep  in 
them — in  short,  the  drunks  are  to  a 
community  all  that  the  rain,  the  fer- 
tilizer and  the  seed  are  to  the  soil 
which  the  farmer  tills.  Ah,  why  do 
these  cruel  reformers  keep  all  the  tip- 
plers away  from  the  precinct  in  which 
they  used  to  be  so  happy .?     I  am  sure 


^be  MarC>man's  'tmooing.    131 

that  if  they  only  knew  how  terribly 
poor  papa  has  suffered,  even  their 
hard  hearts  would  be  touched.  His 
cough  has  been  very  bad  of  late.  He 
has  been  accustomed  all  his  life  to  the 
bracing  night  air,  and  when  he  at- 
tempted to  drive  his  cab  about  in  the 
daytime  the  sunshine  proved  too 
much  for  him,  and  he  caught  cold, 
which  settled  on  his  lungs,  and  now, 
although  the  doctor  has  forbidden 
him  to  go  out  until  after  dark,  he 
finds  that  he  is  sensitive  to  even  the 
moonlight,  and  he  has  suffered  ter- 
ribly during  the  clear  nights  we  have 
had  lately. 

"  But  it  is  useless  for  us  to  discuss 
this  matter  further.  You  must  leave 
me  now,  William,  and  I  sincerely  hope 
that  you  will  find  some  one  who  will 
make  you  very,  very  happy.  Good- 
bye, and  thank  you  for  all  the  kind- 
ness you  have  shown  me." 

And  with   these  words  in  his  ears 


132   ^be  MarDman'6  liCloomg. 

the  stalwart  young  ward  man  walked 
away,  sorrowfully,  and  with  bowed 
head. 


A  cold,  dreary,  rainy  autumnal 
night.  The  whole  town  seems 
weighted  down  with  the  gloom  and 
wretchedness  of  the  soggy  atmos- 
phere, but  nowhere  is  the  desolation 
so  awful  and  depressing,  and  at  the 
same  time  so  pathetic,  as  in  the  de- 
serted village  called  the   Tenderloin. 

Here  the  chill  wind  sweeps  in 
moaning  gusts  through  streets  whose 
gravelike  silence  only  serves  as  a  re- 
minder of  those  joyous  nights  of  old, 
when  they  resounded  to  the  popping 
of  champagne  corks,  the  rattle  of 
ivory  chips,  the  cheerful  hiss  of  the 
electric  light,  the  melody  from  a  score 
of  pianos  and  the  shrill  cry  of  the 
nighthawk  as  he  fell  upon  his  prey. 

At  a  Sixth  Avenue  corner  stands  a 


XLbc  "CClarDman's  Ittfloolna.    133 

hack  whose  forlorn  and  dilapidated 
appearance  is  in  perfect  accord  with 
the  deserted  precinct  in  which  it  has 
been  for  two  decades  a  familiar  ob- 
ject. The  ancient  white  horse  in  the 
shafts,  and  the  driver  on  the  box — an 
old  man,  bent  and  gray — are  as  mo- 
tionless as  if  they  were  posing  in  a 
living  picture,  and  as  indifferent  to 
the  elements  as  if  they  were  carved 
out  of  stone. 

The  equipage  attracts  the  attention 
of  William  Cinch,  who  has  come  up 
town  from  his  own  happy,  prosperous 
precinct  in  company  with  a  gentleman 
of  rural  aspect  who  wears  long  gray 
whiskers  and  has  sawdust  sprinkled 
over  his  clothes.  It  is  apparent  to 
every  old  Tenderloiner  who  notices 
the  pair  that  the  bucolic  gentleman  is 
a  "  come-back  "  whom  William,  the 
ever  alert  and  faithful  public  servant, 
is  chasing  out  of  town  for  being  a 
counterfeiter,  and  as  the  unfortunate 


134  ^t>e  liClarOman'6  "UGlooing. 

man  starts  for  the  Pavonia  ferry  the 
wardman  fixes  his  eyes  upon  the  old 
hack  driver  and  murmurs  compassion- 
ately : — 

"  Poor  old  Jack  Doublefare  !  I  can 
remember  the  time  when  hardly  a  week 
went  by  without  some  jay  waking  up 
in  that  old  cab  to  find  that  his  watch 
and  pin  and  roll  had  been  took  away 
while  he  was  asleep.  He  always  made 
a  clean  job  of  it,  did  old  Jack.  But 
now  he's  only  a  wreck  of  what  he 
was." 

Then,  as  he  strolled  slowly  along 
through  the  rain,  his  thoughts  turned 
to  gentle  Mary  Doublefare,  whom  he 
had  not  seen  since  that  memorable 
evening,  three  months  before,  when 
she  had  definitely  and  finally  refused 
his  proffered  hand. 

He  thought  of  her  with  infinite  sad- 
ness and  longing,  but  without  a  trace 
of  bitterness,  remembering  the  gra- 
cious, innocent  smile  with  w'hich  she 


^be  mari^man's  mooing.    135 

used  to  greet  him,  and  the  delight  that 
used  to  illumine  her  sweet  face  when 
he  brought  her  the  choicest  fruits 
that  could  be  found  on  any  stand  that 
he  permitted  to  obstruct  the  sidewalk 
in  his  precinct,  or  placed  in  her  hand 
some  trinket  that  had  served  as  a 
souvenir  in  a  wealthy  family. 

And  he  remembered,  too,  how  they 
used  to  sit  side  by  side  on  the  sofa 
in  her  little  parlor  and  merrily  invent 
names  to  fit  the  initials  which  were 
graven  on  his  simple  gifts,  and  then 
search  the  "  Lost  and  Stolen  "  column 
to  see  if  there  was  any  reference  to 
them  there. 

Ah  !  those  were  happy  days,  and 
now  he  wondered  if  Mary's  heart 
were  still  her  own  to  bestow  upon 
some  fortunate  suitor.  His  face 
hardened  as  he  thought  of  Rupert 
Flimflam,  nimble  of  finger  and  per- 
suasive of  tongue — just  the  man  to 
enchain  the  fancy  of  a  high-spirited, 


136  tibe  WacDman's  TKIloolng. 

romantic  and  altogether  "  fly  "  young 
girl. 

And  Walter  Dealbrace — he  of  the 
clean-cut  profile  and  cold  gray  eye — 
but  no,  Walter  was  in  no  condition 
now  to  pay  his  addresses  to  any 
woman  brought  up  amid  the  luxuri- 
ous surroundings  to  which,  as  the 
daughter  of  one  of  the  wealthiest  of 
the  Tenderloin's  old-time  nighthawks, 
she  had  been  accustomed  from  the 
moment  of  her  birth  until  that  of  the 
destruction  of  the  precinct.  Time 
was  when  Walter  dressed  in  the  height 
of  fashion,  and  when  his  high-bred, 
sensitive  nature  recoiled  from  contact 
with  anything  but  blue  chips.  But 
now  he  was  sadly  changed. 

William  had  seen  him  but  once  in 
six  months.  It  was  on  the  night 
when  he  had  dropped  in  at  the  club- 
rooms  of  Colonel  Endsqueeze  to  no- 
tify him  of  an  intended  raid  on  his 
premises,  and  he  had  found  it  hard  to 


XLbc  "OaarDman's  xmoofng.    137 

recognize  the  once  prosperous  faro 
scientist  in  the  dejected  figure  that  he 
saw  seated  before  a  consumptive 
looking  stack  of  whites,  which  soon 
melted  away  before  his  gaze  like  a 
stereopticon  advertisement  in  Broad- 
way. 

No,  he  need  not  fear  Walter  Deal- 
brace  as  a  rival,  but  his  brow  dark- 
ened once  more  as  he  thought  of 
Rupert  Flimflam,  and  his  eyes  flashed 
as  the  idea  came  to  him  that  it  would 
be  an  easy  matter  to  "pinch"  the 
bright  and  entertaining  young  man 
w^ho  was  so  merrily  flooding  the  town 
with  his  new  fives.  But  to  do  that  he 
must  betray  his  superior  officer,  Cap- 
tain Fatwad,  under  whose  protection 
Rupert  pursued  his  calling,  and  never 
in  the  course  of  his  whole  career  as  a 
detective  had  William  Cinch  been 
found  wanting  in  allegiance  to  the 
department  which  gave  him  employ- 
ment. 


138   Zbc  WlarDman'6  XCloolnQ, 

It  would  be  far  better  for  him  to 
give  up  all  hope  of  winning  Mary 
Doublefare  than  to  interfere  with  the 
business  of  a  man  who  had  paid  fairly 
for  his  protection,  and  was  fairly  en- 
titled to  something  for  his  money. 

"  Poor  Mary  !  "  he  said  to  himself 
with  a  sorrowful  shake  of  the  head, 
"  I'm  afraid  that  things  are  not  coming 
her  way  to  any  fabulous  extent  just 
now,  and  she  is  too  proud  to  accept 
assistance  from  me.  If  I  could  only 
help  her  in  such  a  way  that  she  would 
not  find  out  that  it  was  me  who  done 
it!" 

And  at  that  moment  William  Cinch 
stopped  suddenly  in  his  walk,  stood 
for  a  moment  wrapped  in  intense 
thought,  then  turned,  and,  with  a  low- 
muttered  "  I'll  do  it  to-night  !  "  hur- 
riedly retraced  his  steps  down  the 
avenue. 


The  changing  scenes  of  this  little 


Zbc  TaaarC)man'9  MooinQ.    139 

drama  bring  us  once  more  to  the  hum- 
ble home  of  the  Doublefares.  It  is 
half-past  six  in  the  morning,  and 
Mary  has  arisen  early,  according  to 
her  invariable  custom,  that  she  may 
prepare  breakfast  for  her  father  on 
his  return  from  his  night's  labors.  A 
slow  step  in  the  hall  followed  by  the 
opening  of  the  door,  and  the  young 
girl  is  in  her  aged  parent's  arms. 

"  Father  ! "  she  cried  with  an  in- 
finite yearning  in  her  voice,  "  did  that 
same  fellow  turn  up  again  and  ask 
you  to  take  him  around  and  show  him 
all  the  sights  ?  " 

In  reply  the  old  nighthawk  took 
from  the  inner  pocket  of  his  overcoat 
and  placed  in  his  daughter's  hand  a 
roll  of  bills,  a  diamond  pin  and  a 
handsome  gold  watch  and  chain. 

"  I  never  see  such  a  persistent  guy 
nor  one  with  so  many  new  outfits  of 
solid  stuff  in  all  the  years  I've  been 
driving  hack,"  he  remarked  with  some- 


I40  Zbc  MacDman's  IKaooino. 

thing  like  reverence  in  his  voice. 
"  You'd  oughter  seen  the  other  drivers 
racin'  for  him  when  he  showed  up  in 
Sixth  Avenue  with  his  load  aboard. 
Drunk  ?  Well,  I  should  say  so.  Why, 
what  ails  ye,  gal  ?  " 

"  Nothing,  father.  Only  it  was  so 
cold  waiting  here  for  you,"  she  re- 
sponded quickly.  But  as  she  busied 
herself  about  the  breakfast-table  he 
noticed  that  her  face  was  pale,  while 
her  lips  trembled,  as  if  from  some 
deep  emotion. 

That  afternoon,  while  the  white- 
haired  hack  driver  was  sleeping 
noisily  in  the  adjoining  room,  Mary 
Doublefare  sat  in  a  rocking-chair  by 
the  window,  holding  in  her  hand  a 
simple  cluster  pin,  now  wet  with  her 
tears.  She  wondered  why  it  was  that 
she  did  not  suspect  from  the  very  first 
the  identity  of  the  stranger  who  for 
three  successive  nights  had  entered 
her  father's  cab,  artfully  disguised  as 


Xlbc  iKflacOman'a  iKaooing.    141 

an  inebriated  Syracuse  merchant,  and 
permitted  himself  to  be  shorn  of 
money,  watch  and  jewels  under  the 
pretence  of  being  taken  to  see  the 
elephant. 

Had  it  not  been  for  that  cluster 
pin,  which  she  had  seen  him  wear  so 
many,  many  times,  she  would  never 
have  guessed  that  it  was  to  William 
Cinch,  the  rejected  lover,  that  they 
owed  their  recent  burst  of  good  fort- 
une. But  the  pin  had  told  the 
story,  and  the  watch — the  gift  of  a 
pawnbroker — she  also  recalled,  for 
William  had  proudly  shown  it  to  her 
the  very  day  after  the  big  burglary  in 
New  Rochelle. 

Yes,  the  inexhaustible  fountain  of 
good  stuff  was  none  other  than 
the  noble,  high-minded  wardman, 
whose  hand  she  had  refused,  kindly, 
it  is  true,  but  none  the  less  firmly. 
With  what  exquisite  tact  and  delicacy 
had    he  sought    to  do    her    and    her 


142   ^be  maarOman's  Wooing. 

father  a  kindness  !  Could  anything 
have  been  better  calculated  to  win  a 
woman's  love  and  admiration  than  a 
generosity  which,  while  accomplishing 
its  purpose,  avoided  all  appearance  of 
charity  ? 

And  how  much  good  it  had  done 
her  father — the  excitement  of  follow- 
ing once  more  his  old  calling  !  Never 
since  the  passing  of  the  old  precinct 
had  her  sire  seemed  so  vigorous  and 
hearty,  so  full  of  hope  for  the  future 
and  enjoyment  of  the  present,  as  he 
had  since  his  first  meeting  with  the 
mysterious  victim,  who  always  fell 
sound  asleep  in  the  cab  and  never 
seemed  to  know  or  care  what  hap- 
pened to  him. 

And  now,  with  her  tears  falling 
swiftly  on  the  cluster  pin  and  blotting 
out  the  inscription  —  "  Wentworth 
from  Uncle  Jabez  " — in  the  inside  of 
the  watch,  poor  Mary  Doublefare 
realized  the  true  worth  of  the  death- 


^be  lailarOman's  TlClooinQ.    143 

less  love  which  this  noble  wardman 
had  placed  at  her  feet,  and  which  she 
had  spurned.  If  she  could  but  see 
him  for  a  moment,  if  onh'  to  thank 
him — to  tell  him,  before  they  parted 
forever,  that  she  knew  all  that  he  had 
done  for  her  and  that  she  appreciated 
the  exquisite  tact  with  which  he  had 
performed  what  was,  after  all,  an  act 
of  simple  charity. 

And  then  the  awful  fear  that  per- 
haps he  had  found  solace  for  his 
wounded  heart  came  upon  her  with 
crushing  force.  She  had  heard,  since 
their  last  meeting,  that  he  had  become 
attentive  to  Susan  Knockout,  the 
daughter  of  the  celebrated  chemist, 
Percival  Knockout,  well  known  as  a 
replater  of  gold  bricks  and  the  dis- 
coverer of  the  famous  elixir  of  sleep, 
called  in  his  honor  "  knockout 
drops." 

She  had  paid  but  little  heed  to  that 
rumor  at  the  time,  knowing   that  as 


144  ^^^  "UaarDman's  liClooins. 

wardman  of  his  precinct  it  was  but 
natural  for  him  to  have  business  deal- 
ings with  Susan's  father  which  might 
occasion  frequent  visits  to  the  chem- 
ist's house.  But  now  the  thought  of 
Susan  fell  upon  her  heart  with  a  dead, 
leaden  weight,  and  she  would  have 
given  the  world  for  a  chance  to  see, 
if  but  for  a  single  moment,  the  hand- 
some young  official  whom  she  had  at 
last  learned  to  love. 

But  how  to  accomplish  this  !  Just 
at  this  moment  her  eyes  fell  upon 
"  Marcella,"  which  she  had  just  fin- 
ished, and  in  a  moment  she  had 
reached  a  decision. 

"  Papa,"  she  said,  that  evening,  as 
the  old  cabman  was  starting  out  for  his 
night's  work,  ''  if  you  have  that  fellow 
again  for  a  fare  I  want  you  to  say  to 
him,  just  as  if  you  were  giving  him  a 
jolly,  *  I've  got  a  daughter  at  home 
who's  dead  gone  on  you,  and  thinks 
you'd    make    a    splendid     husband.' 


XTbe  'QXflar&man'0  Mooine.    145 

Just  say    that  to  him,  papa,  and  let 
me  know  what  answer  he  gives  you." 

The  old  man  promised  and  kept 
his  word. 

The  rest  of  this  little  tale  may  be 
told  in  a  few  words.  William  Cinch 
heard  the  message,  and  hastened  to 
respond.  Mary  Doublefare  met  him 
on  the  threshold,  and  within  a  very 
short  time  the  compact  had  been 
sealed  which  bound  them  together 
for  life. 

Christmas  time  found  the  loving 
couple  established  in  a  home  of  their 
own  in  the  beautiful  precinct  over 
which  their  former  friend,  Captain 
Fatwad,  ruled  with  a  benign  sway. 
As  for  old  Jack  Doublefare,  he 
secured,  through  the  influence  of  his 
son-in-law,  the  exclusive  right  to  drive 
"  guys  "  through  Central  Park,  and  his 
carriage  is  now  known  as  the  "  joint 
on  wheels,"  in  which  many  a  neat 
trick  has  been  turned. 
10 


THE  CHANGE  OF  THE    LUCK. 


A  COLD,  Stormy  night  in  November, 
the  wind  sweeping  through  the  streets 
in  fitful  gusts  and  the  rain  beating 
down  in  chilly,  penetrating  torrents 
on  the  few  belated  pedestrians  who 
hurried  through  the  streets,  thinking 
longingly  of  the  light  and  warmth  of 
saloon  or  home.  A  cheerless,  dreary 
night  throughout  the  whole  city,  and 
nowhere  gloomier  than  in  the  once 
merry  and  wide-open  precinct  over 
which  the  excellent  Captain  Fatwad 
had  reigned  for  three  sunny,  prosper- 
ous years,  and  above  which  now  hung 
the  dark,  ominous  clouds  of  depression 
and     disaster,    which    threatened    to 

147 


148    ^be  Cbangc  ot  tbe  Xucft. 

crush  out  all  the  life  and  activity 
from  the  Captain's  fair  domain. 

Wet  and  cheerless  in  the  storm- 
beaten  streets,  and  dry  and  desolate 
in  the  brightly-lighted  saloons,  where 
melancholy  citizens  huddled  about 
the  stove  and  thought  with  fond 
regret  of  the  kindly  drink-buying 
politicians  who  used  to  drop  in  so 
frequently  with  hospitable  intent  in 
the  old  glad  days — the  days  that  were 
gone  forever.  But  there  were  warmth 
and  light  and  good  cheer,  as  well,  in 
the  comfortable  room  where  Percival 
Knockout,  the  gray-haired  alchemist 
sat  before  the  fire  with  his  little  boy, 
WiUie,  on  his  knee  and  his  fair 
daughter,  Susan,  by  his  side. 

Far  and  wide  throughout  the  pre- 
cinct was  the  aged  man  of  science 
known  and  honored,  not  only  for  his 
professional  skill  and  learning,  but 
also  as  a  humanitarian — one  whose 
pocket  was  ever  open  to  relieve  dis- 


Zbc  Gbange  ot  tbe  Xucft.    149 

tress,  whose  cunning  hand  and  knowl- 
edge of  drugs  and  potions  were  ever 
at  the  disposal  of  the  weak  and  un- 
fortunate. It  was  he  who  had  in- 
vented the  delicious  nepenthe  named 
in  his  honor  "  knockout  drops,"  and 
of  which  but  a  single  globule  sufficed 
to  bring  about  a  profound,  painless 
slumber,  broken  only  by  dreams  of 
fast-accruing  wealth — a  mysterious, 
fateful  potion  which  had,  in  the 
estimation  of  such  men  as  Captain 
Fatwad  and  William  Cinch,  his 
faithful  wardman,  added  more  largely 
to  the  material  prosperity  of  the  pre- 
cinct than  had  any  other  invention  of 
the  age. 

But  to-night,  as  the  little  family  sat 
before  the  glowing  grate  fire,  their 
talk  was  not  of  the  secrets  of  the  lab- 
oratory, the  wonderful  discoveries 
which  had  brought  fame  to  the  gray- 
haired  sire  and  would  have  brought 
wealth,  too,  had  it  not  been  for  the 


150   ^be  Cbange  of  tbe  XucI?. 

open-handed  charity  and  philanthropy 
which  had  always  kept  him  poor. 
Their  thoughts  were  of  their  old 
friends  and  neighbors  on  whom  the 
blight  of  poverty  and  misfortune  had 
fallen  with  crushing  weight. 

"  I  called  on  poor  Mary  Sawdust 
to-day,  papa,"  said  Susan,  "  and  it 
made  me  heartsick  to  see  what  dis- 
tress they  are  in.  The  plating  is  all 
worn  off  their  gold  brick,  and  Henry 
has  no  dye  for  his  mustache.  I  prom- 
ised Mary  that  you  would  replate 
the  brick  for  them  and  send  them  a 
little  of  our  best  purple  hair-dye  to- 
morrow morning.  Was  I  right, 
papa  ? " 

"  Certainly,  my  child,"  responded 
the  father  cheerfully,  "  I  am  sure  that 
the  talents  which  Providence  has 
bestowed  upon  me  can  be  put  to  no 
better  use  than  that  of  giving  aid  to 
those  of  our  friends  who  have  suf- 
fered." 


^be  Cbansc  ot  tbe  %\xc\{,    151 

"  I  met  Rupert  Flimflam  in  the 
street  to-night,"'  continued  Susan, 
"  and  he,  too,  is  playing  in  hard  luck. 
I  promised  him  something  to  make 
his  silk  hat  shiny  again.  We  must 
see  to  it  the  first  thing  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"  These  are  terrible  times,  my 
daughter,"  said  the  father  sadly. 
"  While  you  were  out  this  morning  I 
had  a  call  from  our  old  friend  Colonel 
Endsqueeze.  He  has  aged  terribly 
since  I  last  saw  him,  and  when  I  asked 
him  what  he  was  doing  he  seemed 
ashamed  to  tell  me,  but  before  he  left 
he  confessed  to  me  that  he  had  ac- 
tually been  obliged  to  go  to  work  and 
had  accepted  a  position  in  a  shoe 
store. 

"  And  his  beautiful  long  white 
hands  !  What  will  become  of  them  ?  " 
exclaimed  the  young  girl.  "  Oh  ! 
papa,  it  is  too  terrible  to  think  of. 
How  thankful  I  am  that  we  still  have 


152    ^be  Cbange  of  tbe  Xucft. 

our  own  house,  humble  as  it  is,  and 
enough  to  keep  want  from  our  door." 

"  Poor  child,"  said  the  old  alchemist 
to  himself,  as  his  daughter  left  her 
place  by  the  fireside  to  attend  to  her 
household  duties,  "  she  little  dreams 
of  the  blow  that  has  fallen  upon  us 
too.  I  dare  not  tell  her  just  now. 
She  will  know  the  truth  only  too 
soon." 

Well  might  Percival  Knockout  feel 
dispirited,  for  that  very  day  Captain 
Fatwad  had  called  to  tell  him  that 
little  Willie  had  lost  his  position  under 
the  city  government  and  that  his  name 
would  be  withdrawn  from  the  payrolls, 
where  it  had  figured  ever  since  he 
was  six  months  old  as  inspector  of 
moonshine  at  a  salary  of  $60  a  month. 
It  w^as  the  kind  Captain  himself  wdio 
had  secured  the  child's  appointment 
as  a  mark  of  affection  for  the  old 
alchemist,  whom  all  loved  and  vener- 
ated, and  it  was  a  bitter  grief  to  the 


Zbc  Cbanac  of  tbe  Xuch.    153 

gallant  officer  when  the  awful  polit- 
ical upheaval  compelled  his  removal. 

Filled  with  sad  forebodings  for  the 
future,  the  old  chemist  rose  from  his 
seat  and  retired  to  his  laboratory  in 
the  adjoining  room,  and  there,  sur- 
rounded by  his  well-loved  retorts  and 
crucibles,  he  strove  to  efface  from  his 
mind  all  recollection  of  the  great 
sorrow  that  had  come  upon  him. 

Such  was  Percival  Knockout's 
mental  training  that  he  could  at  all 
times  find  distraction  from  the  tem- 
poral ills  of  life  by  immuring  himself 
in  his  laboratory  and  delving  deep 
into  the  mysterious  science  of  alchemy, 
whose  occult  secrets  were  to  him  as 
an  open  book.  At  the  time  of  which 
I  write  he  was  engaged  in  the  devel- 
opment of  an  invention,  on  which  he 
had  already  expended  years  of  patient, 
scientific  research,  and  which  he 
finally  hoped  would  be  the  crowning 
triumph  of  his  life.     This  invention 


154    ^^^  Cbange  ot  tbe  Xucft. 

was  nothing  less  than  an  instantaneous 
process  for  removing  the  red  and 
black  spots  from  cards.  By  its  use 
the  value  of  a  card  could  be  instantly 
changed,  so  that  a  player  holding  two 
fours  and  a  five  spot  could,  by  means 
of  a  forefinger  dipped  in  this  solution, 
secure  three  fours,  while  the  simple 
process  of  shuffling  the  pack  was 
sufficient  to  rub  off  the  preparation 
and  restore  the  card  to  its  normal 
condition. 

With  this  important  discovery  the 
inventor  firmly  believed  that  the  game 
of  poker,  which  was  looked  upon  by 
the  citizens  of  the  precinct  as  one  of 
the  exact  sciences,  could  be  com- 
pletely revolutionized,  and  his  own 
name  handed  down  to  posterity, 
crowned  with  an  everlasting  fame. 

Deeply  engrossed  in  the  final  tests 
of  his  invention,  the  hoary  man  of 
science  did  not  hear  a  modest  tap  on 
the  outer  door,  nor  his  daughter's  ex- 


XLbc  Cbanflc  ot  tbe  Xucft.    155^ 

clamation  of  surprise  as  the  new-comer 
entered  the  parlor. 

"  You  here,  Walter !  "  she  cried. 
"  I  thought  that  when  we  parted  last 
it  was  to  meet  no  more.  Have  you 
no  fear  of  my  father's  wrath  ?  He 
has  never  forgiven  you  for  turning 
him  down  as  you  did  the  last  time 
you  were  here.  But  you  seem  to  be 
playing  in  great  luck  now,  Walter. 
Can  it  be  that  things  are  running  your" 
way  again  ?  " 

The  young  man  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  handful  of  blue  celluloid 
disks  about  an  inch  and  a  half  in 
diameter. 

*'  I'm  playing  nothing  but  blue 
chips  this  season, Susan,"  he  answered 
briefly. 

The  young  girl's  eyes  flashed  with 
a  sunny,  tender  light  as  they  beheld 
the  familiar  symbols  of  wealth. 

"  Why,  those  are  worth  five  dollars 
apiece  !  "   she  cried.     '•  But  why  did 


156   ^be  Cbanse  ot  tbe  Xuc??. 

you  neglect  to  cash  in  at  the  close  of 
the  game  ?  I  trust  that  nothing  has 
happened  to  the  bank  roll." 

Walter  Dealbrace  laughed  merrily 
as  he  replaced  the  faro  chips  in  his 
pocket. 

"  I  always  bring  a  few  of  these 
away  with  me  and  flash  them  up  now 
and  then  so  as  to  inspire  confidence. 
But,  Susan,  I  have  come  once  more 
to  ask  you  to  be  my  wife.  I  am  no 
longer  the  poor,  broken-down  Walter 
whom  you  knew  a  year  ago.  Then  I 
had  a  system  for  playing  the  wheel, 
and  nothing  but  a  few  puny  white 
chips  to  play  it  with.     But  now " 

He  stopped  short  and  threw  back 
his  overcoat,  revealing  his  handsome 
frock  coat  and  gray  trousers,  costly 
scarfpin  and  heavy  gold  watch-chain. 

"  Now,"  he  continued,  slowly,  as  he 
once  more  drew  the  handful  of  blue 
disks  from  his  pocket,  "  I  am  play- 
ing nothing  but  these.     It  is  a  bright 


tTbe  Cbanfle  ot  tbe  Xucft.    157 

azure  future  that  I  have  to  offer  to 
you,  Susan.     Will  you  share  it  with 


me 


?" 


The  young  girl  seemed  deeply  af- 
fected, and  it  was  with  trembling  lips 
and  eyes  running  over  with  tears  that 
she  replied  : — 

"  Oh,  Walter,  I  cannot — I  dare  not 
answer  you.  My  father's  will  is  law 
to  me,  although  I  am  of  legal  age,  and 
he  is  very  bitter  against  you.  He  has 
forbidden  all  mention  of  your  name 
since  the  day  that  you  borrowed  his 
holdout  and  eight  bones  and  then 
passed  away  from  our  sight,  as  we 
thought,  forever." 

"  Susan,  hear  me,  I  pray  you," 
pleaded  the  young  man.  "  I  found 
when  1  sat  in  the  game  that  night 
that  the  holdout  had  lost  its  cunning, 
and  I  dropped  the  eight  bones  to- 
gether with  two  of  my  own,  and  then 
passed  out  into  the  cold  and  silent 
night,  a  penniless  orphan.     But  your 


158    ^be  Cbange  of  tbe  Xucft. 

father  does  not  feel  harshly  to  me, 
else  I  would  not  have  dared  to  call 
here  again ;  for  it  is  only  three  weeks 
ago  that  he  sent  me  a  bottle  of  hair- 
dye " 

"  No,  Walter,"  said  the  young  girl, 
shyly,  while  a  soft  blush  suffused  her 
delicate  cheeks  ;  "  it  was  I  who  sent 
you  the  hair-dye,  for  I  had  heard 
that  you  were  in  pitiful  straits,  and  I 
knew  what  a  terrible  thing  it  was  for 
you  to  be  without  dye  for  your  mus- 
tache  " 

"  You  sent  it !  "  he  cried  excitedly. 
*'  Then  may  Heaven  reward  you,  for 
it  was  your  simple  gift  that  changed 
my  luck.  Listen,  and  I  will  explain 
it  to  you.  The  morning  after  I  ap- 
plied the  dye  I  found  to  my  horror 
that  it  had  stained  my  mustache  a 
deep  blue,  and  then  I  realized  with 
feelings  of  bitter  despair,  that  I  was 
alone  in  the  w^orld  with  a  blue  mus- 
tache and  a  handful  of  white  chips  that 


tibe  Cbange  ot  tbc  Xucft.    159 

I  had  brought  away  with  me  from  the 
faro  table  the  night  before,  and  which 
were  worth  but  ten  cents  apiece." 

"  Merciful  Heavens !  "  cried  the 
young  girl.  "  I  sent  you  the  wrong 
bottle  by  mistake.  How  could  I  have 
been  so  careless }  But,  Walter,  I 
meant  to  do  you  a  kindness.  Indeed 
I  did." 

"  Hear  me  to  the  end,  Susan,"  con- 
tinued her  lover.  As  I  glanced  from 
the  looking-glass  to  the  little  pile  of 
chips  a  sudden  thought  struck  me,  and 
with  trembling  hands  I  opened  the 
bottle  and  applied  some  of  the  fluid 
to  one  of  the  white  disks,  converting 
it  in  an  instant  into  a  blue  chip, 
worth  just  $5.  Since  then  I  have 
devastated  the  faro  banks  of  our 
precinct  like  a  raging  lion,  and  every 
day  I  have  converted  a  dozen  or  more 
white  chips  into  blue  ones.  But  my 
bottle  of  hair-dye  is  all  gone  and  I 
must  have  another.    With  your  father's 


i6o   ^be  Cbanfic  of  tbe  Xucft, 

aid  I  shall  become  rich  beyond  the 
wildest  dreams  of  avarice.  Then, 
Susan,  you  must  become  my  bride, 
and  it  will  be  my  happiness  to  toil 
for  you  and  make  you  the  best  and 
steadiest  husband  ever  known  in  this 
precinct.  So  long  as  the  gas  burns 
and  the  chips  rattle  I  will  labor  for 
you  at  the  green  cloth,  and  I  will  give 
my  solemn  promise  to  keep  away  from 
the  roulette  wheel  and  to  play  nothing 
but  case  cards  at  faro." 

It  was  a  merry  company  that  sat 
down  to  the  simple  meal  in  the  old 
alchemist's  happy  home  that  night,  for 
Susan  found  it  an  easy  matter  to 
effect  a  reconciliation  between  her 
father  and  the  dashing  young  lover 
who  had  made  such  a  wonderful  dis- 
covery. A  few  weeks  later  Susan 
Knockout  became  the  bride  of  Walter 
Dealbrace,  and  so  prosperous  did  all 
the  members   of  the  family  become 


^be  Cbanfle  ot  tbe  Xucft.    i6i 

that  they  never  really  felt  the  loss  of 
little  Willie's  salary  of  sixty  bones, 
and  to  this  day  Susan  Dealbrace 
firmly  believes  that  it  is  still  paid  to 
her  father  every  month. 
II 


MR.     SYNICK'S    ANTI-BAD- 
BREAK. 


It  was  Mr.  Synick  who,  last  week, 
startled  that  section  of  the  community 
which  dwells  under  the  shadow  of  the 
big  S  in  Society  by  an  invention  of 
his  own  which  is  likely  to  come  into 
general  use  before  the  season  is  over. 

Dolly  Fatwitt,  of  the  Simian  Club, 
who  had  a  seat  at  Mr.  Synick's  table 
the  night  that  the  new  device  was 
first  given  to  the  world,  admits  that 
the  idea  is  a  good  one,  but  declares 
that  he  will  never  forgive  his  host  for 
springing  it  upon  them  with  a  sudden- 
ness calculated  to  dethrone  the  reason 
of  any  one  accustomed  to  the  habits 
of  conventional  society. 

163 


i64  ^t.  SBnlcft'0  ant(*J6aD*3Srcaft» 

"  I  am  assure  you,  deah  boy,"  said 
this  distinguished  cotillon  leader, 
when  questioned  about  the  affair, 
"  that  it  literally  knocked  the  breath 
out  of  my  body — it  came  so  sudden 
and  was  so  entirely  unexpected,  you 
know  ;  and  if  that  man  Synick  hasn't 
a  fearful  nerve,  then  I'm  mistaken." 

"  But  what  did  Mr.  Synick  do  ? 
That's  what  I've  been  trying  to  find 
out " 

"  One  moment,  deah  boy ;  upon 
me  soul  you're  too  precipitate.  I  had 
a  card  for  his  dinner.  Turned  up  at 
the  propah  time — they  were  just  finish- 
ing the  soup — and  took  my  seat  next  to 
Mrs.  Willie  Poppinjay,  a  most  charm- 
ing woman,  by  the  way  ;  and  just  as 
I  was  putting  me  glass  in  me  eye,  I 
happened  to  notice  a  big  card  with 
printing  on  it  lying  at  my  place.  I 
took  me  glass  out  of  me  eye  so  as  to 
read  it,  for  I  thought  it  might  be  some 
mining  stocks,  such  as  were  given  to 


/ftr.  Sisnicli'a  BntlsaBaD^JBrcaft.  165 

us  the  night  we  all  agreed  to  dine  with 
the  Paydirts  in  their  new  house  (and 
lots  of  good  that  did  them,  that  din- 
ner, for  of  course  we  all  cut  them  dead 
the  next  week,  because  they  were  im- 
possible !).  But  it  wasn't  a  mining 
share — for  of  course  the  Synicks  don't 
have  to  give  presents  with  their  din- 
ners, though  they  may  have  to  if  they 
spring  any  more  such  schemes " 

'•  But,  in  the  name  of  Heaven,  what 
was  the  card  that  you  mistook  for  a 
share  of  mining  stock  ?  " 

"  Here  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Fatwitt, 
taking  from  the  table  a  card  contain- 
ing the  following  legend : 

"  Svnick's  Anti-Bad-Break  ;  or. 
The  Fool-Killer  Dispensed  With. 

"  Mr.  Fatwitt. 

"  Please  bear  in  mind  that  Mrs. 
Poppinjay,  on  your  left,  is  just  coming 
out  for  the  first  time  after  her  second 


1 66  /Rr.  S^nlcft'0  antlsa5aD*:©reaft. 

divorce,  and  that  she  will  probably 
marry  young  Freshly  Kawt,  who  sits 
beside  her. 

"  No.  2. — Mr.  Kawt  does  not  know 
much  of  anything,  and  will  probably 
marry  Mrs.  Poppinjay. 

"  No.  3. — Mr.  Skinnem  is  the  son 
of  old  Jabez  Skinnem,  who  broke  the 
Suckers'  National  Bank,  and  is  now 
living  in  Montreal.  Young  Mr.  Skin- 
nem is  merely  tolerated  in  society  be- 
cause it  is  thought  that  he  will  be  his 
father's  heir. 

"  No.  4. — Miss  Kerfew  is  one  of 
the  worst  amateur  actresses  in  Amer- 
ica, and  the  worst  reader  and  reciter 
east  of  the  Alleghanies.  She  gives 
recitations  at  the  slightest  provoca- 
tion." 

"  There  are  two  things  I  would  like 
to  know,"  said  Mr.  Fatwitt,  as  he  put 
the  card  carefully  away.  "  One  is, 
what  that  picture  means  of  a  man 
treading  on  eggs    without   smashing 


Hsx,  SBnfcft'0  antl*31SaDs:SSreaft.  167 

'em,  and  the  other  is  why  he  put  on 
Mrs.  Poppinjay's  card  that  I  was  a 
member  of  the  Simian  Club  and  was 
wearing  half-mourning  for  Mr  Crow- 
ley of  Central  Park.  Why,  1  never 
heard  of  the  man  in  my  life." 


FREAKS  AND  KINGS. 


The  superb  oil  paintings  outside 
the  Bowery  dime  museums  offer  a 
fruitful  field  for  the  study  of  royalty 
as  it  is  to  day.  From  these  pictures, 
vivid  in  color  and  picturesque  in  com- 
position, we,  in  democratic  America, 
glean  our  information  of  the  daily 
lives  of  kings.  They  teach  us  also 
that  physical  malformation  or  eccen- 
tricity is  the  surest  passport  to  royal 
favor  and  invariably  secures  for  the 
afflicted  one  that  presentation  at 
Court  which  is  the  ambition  of  every 
society  woman  in  America. 

By  careful  study  of  these  Bowery 
paintings  we  learn  that  when  a  Dog- 
Faced  Boy  or  a  Toeless  Lady  is  las- 

169 


170         freaks  anD  Things* 

soed  in  the  Caucasus — a  region 
abounding  in  "  freaks "  and  other 
large  game — the  captive  is  conveyed 
at  once  to  St.  Petersburg,  and  there 
exhibited  to  the  Czar,  the  Imperial 
Family  and  any  guests  of  distinction 
who  may  happen  to  be  there  at  the 
time.  The  reception  usually  takes 
place  beneath  the  shadow  of  the 
Alexander  column,  in  the  grand 
square  in  front  of  the  Winter  Palace, 
where  a  regiment  of  the  Imperial 
Guard  has  been  drawn  up.  The 
Czar,  correctly  attired  in  a  linen 
duster  trimmed  with  catskin — a  pre- 
caution necessary  in  that  latitude — 
gazes  at  the  Toeless  Woman  in  speech- 
less wonder.  Prince  Bismarck,  who 
signed  the  Treaty  of  Frankfort  with 
the  placidity  of  a  polar  bear,  and 
engineered  the  Berlin  Conference  with 
the  subtle  craft  of  a  weasel,  stands 
utterly  unnerved  before  the  Leopard 
Boy.     So  Von  Moltke,  who  sat  like  a 


statue  on  his  horse  at  Sadowa  wait- 
ing for  the  Crown  Prince's  division, 
absolutely  unconcerned,  though  the 
destiny  of  Prussia  hung  in  the  bal- 
ance, is  strangely  moved  now.  His 
lips  quiver  and  his  limbs  tremble,  for 
he  is  gazing  at  the  Ossified  Man,  who 
has  stopped  at  St.  Petersburg  on  his 
way  from  the  coast  of  Tartary  to  the 
borders  of  Chatham  Square,  New 
York. 

It  is  a  noteworthy  fact  that,  owing 
to  political  differences,  the  German 
Chancellor  and  Chief  of  Staff  never 
visit  the  Russian  capital  except  to 
behold  the  wonders  that  are  destined 
for  New  York  museums.  Then  one 
touch  of  the  unnatural  makes  the 
whole  world  kin. 

The  receptions  accorded  to  freaks 
at  other  European  courts,  though  fully 
as  ceremonious  and  flattering  as  those 
in  St.  Petersburg,  differ  from  them  in 
many   respects.     In   Berlin,   for    ex- 


172  Jfccafte  anD  things. 

ample,  they  are  held,  as  a  general 
thing,  in  the  throne-room  of  the  Royal 
Palace,  and  the  rigid  etiquette  of  the 
HohenzoUern  Court  ordains  that  the 
Emperor  shall  wear  on  such  occasions 
an  ermine  mantle,  fastened  at  the 
throat  with  a  large  ''  buzzom  pin," 
and  long  enough  to  trail  on  the  floor 
behind  him.  Prince  Bismarck,  Gen- 
eral von  Moltke  and  other  distin- 
guished statesmen  and  warriors  never 
fail  to  attend  in  full  uniform. 

Sometimes  the  freak  is  dragged  into 
the  Imperial  Presence  by  a  company 
of  marines,  and  sometimes  it  is  in- 
troduced by  a  polished  and  scholarly 
"  lecturer "  in  a  swallow-tail  coat. 
But  no  matter  in  what  way  the 
prodigy  is  brought  before  Royalty  the 
actions  of  the  great  men  of  the  earth 
are  the  same.  They  vie  with  one 
another  in  facial  contortions  expres- 
sive of  amusement  and  incredulity. 
Visiting  kings,  queens  and  emperors, 


yreaftg  nnt>  1Ri\\Q6,         173 

whose  mania  for  viewing  human 
freaks  is  well  known  to  everybody 
who  has  walked  from  Chatham 
Square  to  Fourteenth  Street,  fre- 
quently journey  to  Berlin  from 
their  own  capitals  for  the  purpose  of 
attending  these  receptions.  They 
either  bring  their  crowns  with  them 
or  else  borrow  an  old  one  of  the  em- 
peror's, but  it  is  contrary  to  etiquette 
for  them  to  appear  without  that 
kingly  form  of  head  covering. 

As  for  the  freaks  who  are  honored  by 
these  attentions,  custom  compels  them 
to  become  a  hundredfold  more  freak- 
ish than  they  are  before  an  ordinary 
Bowery  audience.  The  Wild  Idiot 
Boy  struggles  frantically  with  that 
portion  of  the  Landwehr  which  dis- 
covered and  captured  him  in  the 
heart  of  the  Hartz  mountains,  while 
his  face  wears  a  look  of  hopeless 
idiocy,  similar  to  that  noted  by  sci- 
entists in  exclusive  social  gatherings 


174         3fcea!i6  anO  Ikinss. 

in  New  York.  The  Human  Griddle 
Cake  broils  himself  on  the  palace- 
range  in  the  presence  of  the  wonder- 
ing sovereigns.  The  Tattooed  Lady 
becomes  as  lustrous  as  a  prism  out 
of  a  glass  chandelier ;  while  the  Toe- 
less  Wonder  has  fully  ten  toes  less  than 
she  displays  in  Fourteenth  Street. 
The  Transparent  Man  is  so  trans- 
parent that  the  Czar  of  Russia,  look- 
ing through  his  left  leg,  readily  dis- 
tinguishes the  features  of  Prince 
Bismarck  on  the  other  side,  and  un- 
doubtedly wishes  that  he  could  see 
through  the  wily  German  Chancellor 
too. 

The  Human  Pin  Cushion,  who 
recently  appeared  at  the  Berlin  court, 
accompanied  by  a  voluble,  swallow- 
tailed  "  agent,"  fairly  surpassed  his 
own  record  as  a  pin-cushion  by  driv- 
ing spikes  and  darning-needles  into 
all  parts  of  his  body,  while  the  royal 
and   imperial   company   gazed   upon 


3freaft0  anO  tkime.        175 

him  open-mouthed  with  wonder  and 
delight ;  and  Prince  Bismarck  called 
his  master's  attention  to  him  by  a 
well-aimed  nudge  under  the  ribs. 

In  England,  as  well  as  on  the 
Continent  and  the  Bowery,  freaks 
are  the  recipients  of  marked  atten- 
tions. The  Queen  is  never  so  happy 
as  when  she  stands  on  the  terrace  in 
front  of  Windsor  Castle,  conversing 
on  the  leading  events  of  the  day 
with  the  Man  with  Two  IMouths,  or 
turning  the  skipping-rope  for  the 
Four-Legged  Girl,  to  jump  over. 
Small  wonder  that  the  greater  part 
of  the  British  army  turns  out  to 
view  this  beautiful  and  instructive 
spectacle  ;  that  Mr.  Gladstone  comes 
from  the  House  of  Commons,  and 
that  the  Prince  of  Wales  appears  in 
the  same  uniform  which  he  wears 
while  smoking  various  favorite 
brands  of  cigarettes  ! 

And   whenever    I    notice    a    freak 


176  f'rcaftr  atic^  Ikintiy. 

sitting  on  his  platform,  with  a  far- 
away look  in  his  eyes,  while  the 
lecturer  delivers  his  glowing  eulogy, 
and  w^hen  I  see  that  he  is  listless  and 
indifferent,  and  has  not  the  ambition 
to  make  himself  transparent  or  water- 
proof or  fireproof,  or  whatever  else 
the  oil  painting  outside  may  call  for, 
then  I  know  that  his  thoughts  are  far 
away  in  Buckingham  Palace  or  gay 
St.  Petersburg,  where  he  once  re- 
velled among  the  greatest  of  the 
earth. 

THE    END. 


^wcntictb  Ccnrurr  Series. 


An  important  new  series  of  copyrighted  dotcIs 
of  convenient  size,  in  an  attractive  buckram 
binding,  vrith  tasteful  stamping  in  silver,  at  ihe 
Tery  moderate  price  of  75  cents. 


Hn  tbc  fK^iost  ot  Hlarms. 

By  R0EER7    BARR. 

*■'  A  ver3'  readable  and  clever  story." — Jvrw  York  Smh. 

"  Mr.  Barr  is  a  vigorous  wrueT."" — Philadelphia  Times. 

"  A  charming  stop'  told  in  aji  exceedingly  bright  and 
fnimy  manner.  ' — Sashz'iUe  Banner. 

*'  Everyone  must  read  '  In  the  Midst  of  Alarms.'  It  is 
a  ^ty  more  of  such  books  do  not  exist." 

— Chicago  Herald. 

^be  S^crtl's  plav>ciroun^• 

By  JOHN   MACKIE. 

A  stirring  story  of  frontier  life  in  Canada.  It 
keeps  the  reader  interested  from  the  first  to 
the  last. 

**  It  is  a  simply,  but  tragically,  conceived  story  of  the 
■irild  Northwest.  '  It  possesses  the  reality  of  a  tale  spoken 
from  the  life." — London  Literary  World. 

**  Full  of  excellent  and  graphic  pictures." 

—  The  Whitehall  Rrrie-^ . 

XTbe  Jpace  an^  tbc  /■^a5k. 

A  Collection  of  Short  Stories  by 
ROBERT    BARR. 

** The  coming  short  storj-  -writer,  in  my  opinion.'" 

— A .  Ccn&n  Dvyle. 

"  The  book  is  made  up  of  capital  stories." 

—  JVVzi'  York  Ccmnurcial  Advertiser. 

*'  It  would  be  difficult  to  exaggerate  in  praise  of  this 
dcvcrlittkbocdc."— /'Ai/a^.^A:^  Te>-Day. 


Ube  pbantom  Deatb, 

A  nd  other  Stories  of  the  Sea, 

By  W.  CLARK   RUSSELL. 

"  Mr.  Russell  has  no  rival  in  the  line  of  marine  fic- 
tion."— Buffalo  Commercial. 

"  Eleven  of  Clark  Russell's  sea  tales  in  one  volume  is 
certainly  a  treat." — Rochester  Herald. 

"  A  breath  of  salt,  not  unwelcomed  at  this  season  of  in- 
land breezes,  comes  to  us  at  our  desk  as  we  open  '  The 
Phantom  Death.'  " — New  York  Housewife. 

Ube  Sale  of  a  SouL 

By  F.  FRANKFORT  MOORE. 

S)ea^  /IDan'5  Court 

By  MAURICE  H.   HERVEY. 
By  OUIDA. 

Sinners  Uwatn. 

A    Tale  of  the  Great  Lone  Land. 

By  JOHN   MACKIE. 

Author  of  "  The  Devil's  Playground." 

ir  /IDarrieD  a  Mtfe» 

By  JOHN   STRANGE   WINTER. 

Diana's  Ibuntino* 

By  ROBERT    BUCHANAN. 


For  Sale  by  all  Booksellers.,  or  sent  Postpaid  by 

FREDERICK   A.    STOKES    COMPANY, 

27-29,  West  23d  Street,  New  York. 


Meet  lEnt)  Series. 


®ne  Dollar  £acb. 


THE  GRASSHOPPERS,  Mrs.  Andrew  Dean. 
A  COMEDY  IN  SPASMS,  ''Iota." 
ANNE  OF  ARGYLE,  George  Eyre-Todd. 
STOLEN  SOULS,   H^iUiam  Le  Queux. 
LAKEWOOD,  Mary  Harriott  Norris. 


Otbers  in  {^reparation. 


For  Sale  by  all  Booksellers. 

ffre^erlck  H»  Stoftes  Company, 

publisbers,  'Acw  £?orti. 


TWENTIETH  CENTURY  SERIES. 


•fln  the  iD^(^St  of  Blarms,      .    Jio5e/'i  Barr. 


trbe  2)cvirs  JMa^grounb, 
tTbe  ifacc  an6  tbc  /iDasf?, 
Ube  Pbantom  Bcatb 
Ube  Sale  of  a  Soul, 
2>ea^  /iDan's  Court, 
Sinners  Uwain,  .    . 

trojtn,     

1  /!Darric5  a  TKHifc, 
S)iana'd  Ibuntin^,    . 


.  John  Mackie. 

.  Robert  Barr. 

.     JF.  C/ar>?r  Russell. 

.  F.  Frankfort  Moore. 

,  Maurice  H.  Hervey. 

,  John  Mackie. 

.  Ouida. 

.  John  Strange  Winter, 

,  Robert  Buchanan. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 


®     000 


'IHliifi 


002 


633  •7 


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H 

^^^■1 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^Hp^^i^ 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^P 

^^^^^^^■' 

^^^^^^B 

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H        Soi 

^^^^^^^^^^H 

^^H 

